Paper Tiger
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Majority of story Young Winchester. Caught in a tangled web of unknown enemies and alliances, only one thing is certain...a deadly ending that will shake the core of The Brotherhood, beginning a twenty year vendetta that has far reaching consequence.
1. Chapter 1

Paper Tiger

Prologue for To The Victor Goes the Spoils

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

**Timelines**: Series-Post Season Two (possible spoilers up to that point)

Brotherhood AU- After _Temporary Remedy_, however the flashback which is the majority of this story falls directly after _Growing Pains_ and before _Toy Soldiers_.

Disclaimer: Nothing Supernatural belongs to me sadly. If it did I'd leave things along.

Brotherhood AU: If you're feeling a little clueless about this twisty-turny universe chechout The Hunters Tomb (thehunterstomb(dot)com) for a list of stories in order, back ground and pictures on all characters, and awesome videos and artwork by Tara, Tidia, & Sensue.

Author's Note: I'm back! And I come bearing gifts! This story which is basically a prologue has taken on a life of its own. Sigh. Hopefully it will tell the story I hope it does. All comments are so welcome and appreciated. I've been holding off on posting until I get the majority of it finished, per my awesome Beta's directive. But I found myself prolonging and prolonging and now I've become a bit nervous. In fact, I've been fearful of putting it up-kind of feels like stage fright. But I am going to go ahead and do it-jump right in. See…I'm stalling even in the intro.

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_**Paper Tiger**__**: n. a person or thing, especially an organization that appears to be very strong and powerful but is in fact weak and ineffectual**_

New York

June 2007

Dr. Mackland Ames was exhausted. He had just returned on a midnight flight from Boston, and was ready for nothing more than a stiff drink and the recap of the Yankees game he had missed while gone on yet another impromptu trip.

Heading up the current Triad without any back-up was beginning to take a toll, not only on his work, but his personal life. He hadn't spent a full week in New York in more than a month. Peace and quiet were beckoning him.

The strong aroma of cigar smoke as he opened the door to his apartment told him he wasn't about to find tranquility. The main lights of his home were off, but a faint glow from the living room caught his attention.

Someone was there.

Caleb crossed his mind. However, his son didn't smoke and was currently in Las Vegas with the Winchesters celebrating their victory over the yellow-eyed demon. He removed the gun from his briefcase. There was no luxury of taking chances. Battle lines had been drawn; shots fired from all sides. Ames sighed. He once craved living the cloak and dagger lifestyle, but the reality was disagreeable.

Mackland quietly sat his bags at the door, holding his weapon at the ready. All he really needed now was a flower-printed Hawaiian shirt and a Ferrari. Dean would have been pleased.

Ames peered around the corner, allowing him a view of the living room and the entrance to the hallway. A tall figure was standing in front of the large glass windows overlooking the Manhattan skyline. Mackland raised his gun, aiming at the back of the intruder's head.

"You should be careful where you point that thing, Mackland. Someone could get hurt." The man's voice was deep and held an amused timbre that grated on Ames's nerves.

"Griffin."

The black man turned, a smile lighting his refined features. "I hope you don't mind. I helped myself to some brandy." He held up the crystal tumbler. "You have exquisite taste." Griffin nodded to the surroundings. "In many things."

It had been years since Mackland had seen the man in person. Almost eighteen to be exact, but Griffin Porter hadn't changed much. His dark hair had turned mostly silver as had his slight beard, but the dark eyes still held a smug air of intelligence and challenge.

Mackland lowered his gun slightly. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I was in the city." Griffin gestured towards the window. "I recalled you lived here and thought I might drop in for a short visit, especially in light of recent occurrences."

Ames shook his head. "You were in the neighborhood?"

"So to speak." Griffin smiled. "How are you?"

"In light of recent occurrences, I'm doing well."

Porter sighed heavily, staring into the glass of amber liquid. "We've had several losses as of late."

"Jim died a year ago."

Griffin looked up and his smile faltered. "So he did. Life is not as interesting without The Guardian. I miss my old friend. I'm sure you understand having lost John too."

Mackland ignored the obvious barb about John's death. Griffin's audacity to compare the two relationships was ballsy and typical. Mackland had lost a brother. Griffin Porter had no idea what that was like. "You mean you're able to go about your treachery much more freely?"

"Treachery?" Porter moved to the intricate mantle, the centerpiece of the Ames home. He picked up a framed photo and studied it. "I figured you to have more important matters than keeping up with my comings and goings."

"Jim made it a point to keep his eyes on any potential trouble for The Brotherhood."

"I am no threat to The Brotherhood. On the contrary. Everything I do is for the sake and preservation of The Brotherhood."

"Then you didn't send Ian Hastings and Silas Fox to attack my son and the Winchesters this past spring?"

Griffin lifted the picture he was holding. "They've grown into men since the last time I saw them," he replied, not answering the doctor's question. "I hear they are quite formidable."

Mackland strode forward and took the frame from the other hunter. It was of the boys and Jim taken at the farm not long after Sam graduated high school. One of the last times they were all together before Sam left for Stanford, and John went off on his lone crusade. "They're no longer boys or easy targets." He held Griffin's gaze. "I'm sure that's disappointing for the schoolyard bully."

"Can't we let bygones be bygones, Mackland? Perhaps find a way to work together? After all a war has already begun with all the extra demons running amuck."

"You kidnapped and tortured my son and my best friend's children. They nearly died on that mountain." Ames stepped closer to the older man. "And you have the nerve to come here and ask for some type of forgiveness? You were lucky to keep your life."

"I did what I had to do."

"You committed mutiny and you didn't care who you hurt to get what you wanted. Jim only let you live because you inadvertently saved the boys' lives."

"You know nothing of that time or what I was trying to accomplish!" Griffin's face twisted in anger. "You could never understand the ramifications of what I was attempting to do. Even now we are all feeling the after effect of my failure, of James's near-sightedness. If he would have only named me The Scholar…"

Mackland cut him off, not wanting to here the petty excuse. "You're right. I could never understand how or why you would do such a thing." The man had been a trusted friend to Jim. That all changed one chilling week in December 1989. Mackland would never forget the fateful phone call. Perhaps Griffin was correct when he said the past was alive in the present. The fear of those days was a bitter memory-one that would never allow him to trust anything Griffin Porter said or did.

New York

December 1989

"Dr. Ames?" Naomi stuck her head in the door of Mackland Ames's office. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but you have an urgent phone call on line two."

The doctor glanced at the two detectives and the distraught parents they had brought with them and frowned. "I'm so sorry." He shot his research assistant a questioning glance. "Could it possibly wait, Naomi?"

The Morgan's little girl had disappeared from a mall yesterday. Karen Morgan had turned away for a moment in the crowded shopping center and Bethany disappeared. So started their voyage into every parent's worst nightmare.

Naomi shrugged apologetically. She read the look of frustration on the doctor's handsome face "The man on the line seemed quite distressed."

Mac sighed. Distressed could describe anyone from a former patient to one of his closest friends. "I promise this will only take a moment," he explained to his visitors, stepping to the relative privacy of his desk. "This is Mackland Ames."

"Are the boys with you?"

The voice was undeniable familiar. Mac frowned when he easily picked up on the uncharacteristic panic. "John, what's wrong?"

"The boys…are they with you?"

"John, I haven't spoken with the boys."

"Could Jim have picked them up?"

"Where are you?"

"Virginia."

"John, I spoke to Jim yesterday. He was in Kentucky where he was expecting you in the next few days."

"Where's Caleb?"

"John, what's going on?"

"Damn it, Mackland. Could Caleb have picked up the boys? He's out of school for Christmas break, isn't he? He was planning to come to Jim's?"

"Caleb's hunting, John." Mac lowered his voice. "Bobby called. Joshua is in Europe and Fisher needed some assistance with something in Georgia. I told Caleb he could help him as long as he was at the farm before Christmas Eve."

"But if Dean called him…"

"Caleb wouldn't have taken the boys without asking you John. Talk to me."

"They're not here, Mackland. I've been gone a few days. God…I talked to them last night."

"What do you mean they're not there?"

"We've been staying at my grandfather's old place in Virginia..."

Mac had been to the rundown farmhouse once. It wasn't the best place to be in the warmer months, let alone winter. But it was free, and John usually headed in that direction when hustling and credit card scams were insufficient.

"They had supplies and a phone. I ordered them to stay in the house. It snowed here last night…"

Dean and Sam were boys and expecting them to stay cooped up inside when a wintry wonderland lay just beyond the window was expecting much.

"John, have you checked the barn, anywhere they might like to play?"

"I'm not an idiot, Mac! I've been looking for hours. It'll be dark soon, and their coats are here. Besides, they both had colds. There's no way Dean would wander off."

Mackland ran a hand over his mouth. "Just take it easy, John. I'll be on the next flight. You stay there in case the boys show up. We'll fix this."

"God, Mac, what if something took them…What if that thing that got Mary…"

"John." Ames cut his friend off, not able to bear the pain and fear clinging to each breathy word. "We'll find them."

Mackland placed the phone back in place and stood on shaky legs. He looked at Bethany's parents. Gone was the wall between them and the good doctor- the distance painfully bridged by instant empathy. "I'm sorry. We'll have to speed things along." He took a deep breath and moved towards the couple who were looking at him as if he were a miracle worker. "I'm afraid I have a family crisis of my own."

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"He doesn't look like much of a knight in shining armor, Doc." Sid Harvey roughly kicked the chair in front of him. The young dark-haired man sitting in said chair stirred slightly but didn't awake. "Kind of looks like one of them poster boys for those fancy clothes stores down at the mall. You sure we got you the right kid?" The boy was not much older than eighteen; stylish shaggy hair and a clean cut baby face-not the warrior Harvey had envisioned.

"I'm quite certain our guest is the appropriate one."

"The other one we left behind looked a little sturdier." Harvey rolled his shoulders, stretching like a large cat. "I'm not real impressed with either."

"I assure you that both are highly trained and extremely deadly-this one especially."

Sid snorted and looked skeptically at his latest employer. The doctor was definitely book smart and obviously rich, but he wasn't sure if the guy had any experience with 'highly trained and deadly.'

Dr. Griffin Porter was the kind of black man Sid's grandfather always feared and detested. The old man had tried to instill that same bigotry in his grandson, but never let it be said that Sid Harvey discriminated by skin color. As far as he knew every man's money was green as grass. Besides, Sid only had hatred for two types of men, the weak ones and the poor ones. Harvey was damned determined to be neither.

"You said that before when you hired me and Mike." Sid flicked his gaze to his partner, who was quietly studying the situation. Mike Lenard was never big on talk, but he had the strength of an ox and the morals of a snake. It made for a perfect union in their 'black bag job' business. If Sid and Mike had a fucking jingle it would have been 'Dirty Deeds.' But they didn't do them dirt cheap. "I have to tell you I was a little disappointed." Sid had listened to the conversations of the odd group of men over the last few days. They spoke of Knights and Scholars and something called The Brotherhood. He was near expecting warriors on horseback with drawn swords.

"You shot them with tranquilizer guns from two hundred yards away. I don't exactly consider that fair sport."

Sid ran his hand over his blond mustache and grinned at the slick young man by the doctor's side. He had heard the others call him Grayson. Louis Grayson. He sounded insulted on behalf of the captive and the other one they had left tied up in the forest. Sid had dealt with his kind before. "You told us not to make a mess."

"And I appreciate your discreetness," Porter replied before Grayson could interject.

The doctor gave Louis a stern glance and then turned to one of his other lap dogs, a bigger man with light hair, shifty eyes and a car salesman smile. "You should go," he told him. "There are other bases that need to be covered. You know what to do. Tell Mathews to come in on your way out. Our newest guest is close to waking and we need to finish preparing the stage."

Sid recognized the look the blond conman gave him and Mike before leaving. It was full of loathing and disgust. He was the kind of man that didn't want to get his hands dirty, but had no issues with paying to have the work done as long all proceedings were under the table in a dark secluded place.

Sid looked at his employer. "Your boy doesn't care for our kind."

The black man stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Our work is usually of an entirely different nature. Imagine the exterminator that suddenly finds himself in partnership with the cockroach."

Sid didn't know if he and Mike were being insulted, threatened or perhaps both. "How upsetting for him."

"You never have said what kind of business you're into, Mr. Porter."

Sid was surprised when Mike spoke up, confronting Griffin. "Not that it matters," Harvey quickly interjected. "We've seen the gambit of weird shit."

"This guy was digging up a grave when we nabbed him. He and the other guy were carrying all sorts of weapons." Mike ran a hand over his bald head. It was a gesture Sid recognized. His partner was nervous. Mike pointed to the boy who was tied and blind-folded. "He's not a cop is he?"

"A cop?" Sid laughed. Leave it to his partner to add two and two and come up with three. Despite the lack of hair, Mike had nothing on Kojak. "How many cops you know go around trying to bust a corpse, Mikey?"

Griffin shook his head and Sid registered the look of patronization that crossed his features as he stared at Mike. "I assure you he is not a cop, Mr. Lenard."

Harvey was sure the black man had a low opinion of them, like his colleagues. Like many of their clientele, the good Dr. Griffin Porter seemed resigned to the fact that the job he wanted done called for a class of worker he would never associate with in the light of day.

Sid stepped closer to the young detainee as he once again seemed on the verge of waking. He wrapped his hands in the boy's dark hair and jerked his head back, like a prized deer he had downed. "I could care less who he is as long as we got the right one and you intend on paying us the agreed upon fee."

"You'll get your money as soon as we have what we want," Grayson snapped.

"Louis."

Sid flashed his gold-toothed smile at Grayson. "You wanted the grave robber, we got him. You want information from them, we'll get that too. We'll play your little game-no matter how odd it is."

"I don't like there're kids involved." Once again Mike's deep voice rumbled through the log cabin and Sid favored him with a 'would you cut it out' glare. Apparently, he and Porter were on par for having associates who didn't know how to keep their traps shut. "We don't mess with kids. The one's practically a baby."

"The boys are none of your concern."

Sid looked at Porter. "I'm not as squeamish as Mikey. For a fee I'll babysit the munchkins."

"This is not a game, Mr. Harvey." The doctor's face flashed with annoyance before he could slip his poker face back in place. "You will not do anything you are not instructed to do. There will be no improvisations."

"Right. The little _script_ you've written for us. It all seems very cloak and dagger to me, Doc."

"Unlike a real production, you need not know your character's motivation, Sid. Just take direction. Do you understand that?"

"So none of this is real?" Mike asserted with a hint of his state of perpetual confusion.

Sid rolled his eyes. It was a damn good thing Mike was skilled with his hands. "We're not actors, Porter. I told you that."

"Of course not." Griffin smiled. "You two are more like stunt doubles."

The doctor's grin did not reach his cold eyes. Not for the first time Sid felt like the mouse being pawed by the fat house cat. Greed overrode his common sense. There was all that cheese to think of. "I always liked that show with Lee Majors." Sid snapped his fingers. "What the hell was it called, Mikey? The one with that blonde babe? "

"_The Fall Guy_," Mike supplied.

"Yeah." Harvey smiled. "_The Fall Guy_."

Griffin shared a look with Grayson and then favored Sid with another soulless grin. "How ironic."

Before Sid could reply, Mathews entered the cabin. He was a tall rugged man with dark wavy hair and dark skin. He wasn't as vocal as his other associates, but Sid was wary of him. Perhaps more than the rest because of his quiet observant nature.

"You needed me, Griffin?"

Porter nodded. "I think it's time we finish with the set, Jarrett. I need some make-up applied."

Mathews shook his head slightly. "You're sure about this? You really believe this is the only way?"

"I know it is."

Sid watched the men as they shared a silent moment. He had the feeling Mathews wasn't as convinced as he was letting on. But Griffin smiled, reached out and squeezed his colleagues shoulder. "Don't tell me there haven't been times when you wanted to take a swing at me, old friend. Now is your chance."

Jarrett's solemn face lifted with a crooked smile. "Oh there have been times, Griffin. More than I can count."

"Then consider it a perk." Porter lifted his chin to the other man. "Just don't enjoy it too much."

"Don't worry, Griffin." Mathews balled his fist, drew back his arm. "I never mix business and pleasure."

Sid winced as Jarrett Mathews hit Porter with a vicious right hook and then followed with a left jab to his eye. He glanced at Mike, who was rubbing his slicked head again and shifting from foot to foot like an antsy prize fighter. "This job is getting weirder and weirder." These _hunters_ were a bunch of crazy sonsofbitches.

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A/N: Shooting for posting once a week. Let's hope that works out with both mine and Tidia's schedule. We could be bribed I'm sure. Chocolate works…reviews too. And don't worry, this story is Dean and Sam focused. They will show up soon and remain through out. Writer's Honor.


	2. Chapter 2

Paper Tiger

Chapter 2

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Okay, first, THANKS for all the wonderful reviews on part one. I've still got butterflies but all your kind words helped so much. Secondly, bare with me. I know there are new names in here and it is a lot of dialogue and build up, but it is important. I promise. It will make sense in chapter three. Your comments helped me revamp this chapter with Tidia's guidance and I think it's better for it. There is a reason we love reviews, besides that moment of euphoria and ecstasy of having our ego stroked. ;-) Now…open the curtain!

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_It is not part of a true culture to tame tigers, any more than it is to make sheep ferocious. -Thoreau_

"What about Caleb?" John turned to Mackland again. "He has a bond with the boys. We made sure of that. He knew they were sick last week and called. Wouldn't he know they were in trouble?"

Ames ran a finger over his eyebrow. "His abilities are not always predictable, Johnathan. He's still coming into them." Mackland had no intentions of pushing his son's training. Honestly, he was frightened that he might push his son over some invisible edge. "The nightmare he had last week wasn't exactly a premonition." Caleb hadn't gone into details, only telling his father it was not a vision. It had shaken the teen enough to warrant a call home from Auburn. Sometimes Mackland feared John expected too much from all the boys. "But I tried calling him as I know you did and got his voicemail." Mackland looked to Bobby. "Have you tried Fisher?"

Singer nodded, finishing off a sugar cookie in the shape of a reindeer. He dusted crumbs from his hands. "Got his voicemail, too. But that's not unusual. They were going after a wood troll. Furry, bridge-dwelling bastards are mean sonsofbitches. Hearing like a bat. A hunter has to be damn careful around them."

"Who's back-up on it?" John inquired.

"Silas."

"We may need to call him in." Jim spoke up. "We'll have him meet up with Fisher, finish the job if he needs to. I want Caleb here, with us."

They had decided to meet at Jim Murphy's farm. It was not the homecoming the pastor had planned.

Despite the twinkling Christmas lights on the tree and the overflow of presents beneath the fragrant Blue Spruce, the moment held anything but joy. The air was heady with tension and fear. Jim decided the discussion called for his 'special' recipe of eggnog, the one with a dash of Christmas spirit and a whole hell of a lot of his homebrew.

"Tell us again, Johnathan." Mackland Ames leaned across the oak table.

"Damn it, Mac!" Winchester slid a hand over his beard. John was tired of wasting time. He was never one to sit around. He needed action. He needed to feel like he was 'doing' something to help his sons. "I've told you already. I came home; there was no sign of them. No signs of a struggle. No sulfur or resonance of spiritual activity. The EMF showed shit. If there were footprints or tire tracks they were covered by new snowfall."

"Can't you get anything off their stuff, Mac?" Bobby Singer asked, taking the glass of eggnog Jim offered him. Murphy had called the mechanic as soon as he had heard from John and he had made his way to Kentucky. "You usually can come up with something with that psychometric shit. That doesn't mean…" Bobby let his words trail off as Jim cleared his throat.

"They're not dead." John hissed, not needing to hear the last of the grizzly hunter's thoughts. "I would know if my children were dead." He turned a tortured gaze to Ames. The dark eyes didn't shine with the confidence of the tone. "Right, Mac?"

Mackland looked down at the one-eyed WooBee Bear and the weathered baseball glove. "I'm not sensing them." He rubbed his tired eyes. "But it's not the same as when I locate a body. It's just nothing. More like I'm running into the proverbial brick wall."

"Could it be because you're too close to the situation?" Jim claimed the chair closest to The Scholar, squeezing Mackland's shoulder. The psychic had been at it for hours. "You've never used your talents on those you love in such a grim circumstance as this one."

Mackland frowned. He'd thought of that. Afraid he might subconsciously block his own knowledge due to the fear of finding Dean and Sam dead. "I'm not sure." He exhaled heavily. "I'm sorry, John. I'll keep trying."

Winchester nodded grimly. It was all he could ask. "Jim? Have any of your sources heard anything?"

The pastor shook his head. "Nothing has shown on the radar. I have contacted Missouri and a few others with her gift. None of them have any idea of what might be happening. No hunter has heard anything either, but I have the researchers working overtime."

"What aren't you saying, old man?" John asked, picking up on the odd vibe coming from Murphy. He had no patience for the typical Guardian mystery. These were his boys. Screw The Brotherhood.

"I'm not intentionally hiding things from you, Johnathan."

"But you haven't told us everything."

Jim thoughtfully moved his thumb around the lip of his glass, watching as the ice reflected the flashing lights on the tree. He recalled the odd phone conversation he had yesterday with Duran Hughes. "I go, and it is done; the bell invites me." The pastor muttered.

"Jim?" Mackland placed a hand on his friend's arm, unsure of the strange comment.

Murphy met Ames's concerned gaze with a slight smile. "I had a phone call from Duran Hughes yesterday."

"Hughes?" John searched his memory for the name. "Isn't he some kind of fortune teller?"

"He fancies himself a medium-cons people out of money to talk to their passed loved ones." Mackland's tone reflected his distaste for the man's use of his gift. "Some of the families I have helped have fallen prey to his promises."

Jim frowned. "He is not the most upstanding and pure of our ranks, but he is 'talented' in his own right." And his family had been hunters for generations. Julian Smith, the prior Guardian had bestowed The Brotherhood ring onto Duran. Jim was not sure he would have made the same decision. But like most things, at times, The Brotherhood could be the 'good old boys' club. Who you knew and who your father was sometimes played more importance than actually 'who' you were as a person…as a hunter.

"What did he want?"

"He wanted to warn me to be careful. When I asked what had brought about the uncharacteristic worry for my welfare, he said Julian had relayed a message from the great beyond."

"Julian?" Mac looked doubtful. "Your deceased predecessor?"

The pastor nodded. Julian was much more than the former Guardian. He had been a dear friend. "I discounted it mostly. It is not the first time Duran has tried his little manipulations with me to win favor or to get something he wanted."

Bobby snorted. "Why you let the bastard keep his ring is still a mystery to me. He's into the dark arts up to his eyeballs and we all know it. He's a slimy sonofabitch and it wouldn't take much for me to kick his ass."

"What did he tell you, Jim?" Ames purposefully ignored Singer.

"Only that line from Macbeth."

Mackland glanced at John then returned his gaze to Jim. "And that concerned you?"

Jim twisted the silver ring. "Julian was a Shakespeare buff. We often joked he was a thespian in a former life." The pastor sighed. "And the quote itself is not a happy one."

Mackland searched his sparse memories of Macbeth. "I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell that summons thee to heaven or to hell."

"Someone's out to off this guy Duncan?" Bobby gave his off the cuff interpretation.

"That pretty much sums it up, yes." Mackland replied. He shared another quick look with The Knight and then focused on Jim. "Perhaps someone is out to harm The Guardian."

"And they're not above using Sam and Dean to do it," John added grimly. It wasn't a secret. Jim Murphy had a soft spot for John's boys. John often counted on the pastor when a hunt would draw him away. Jim's farm was home base for the small family-the only one they truly knew.

"If Duran is sharing information you can damn well be sure it's not out of the goodness of his heart." Bobby pointed out. "There has to be something in it for him. There always is."

"Or he knows something and doesn't want to be implicated when the fallout takes place," Mackland stated.

John shoved away from the table and stood. "If he had anything to do with my boys being taken, I'll send him over to visit his contacts on the other side before he can blink an eye."

Jim held a hand up to ward off the infamous Winchester temper. "We don't know this is even connected, Johnathan."

"But your gut is telling you it is."

The pastor exhaled heavily. "I think it has more to do with my heart than my gut."

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The first blow to his gut did the trick and Caleb's head snapped up, his abrupt return to consciousness entirely unpleasant. The distinct sounds of flesh striking flesh welcomed him back and left his face throbbing. Another slap had him trying to open his eyes to see where he was, to find some sort of escape. Unfortunately, Caleb quickly found he was unable to move and apparently blindfolded.

"That's enough! Leave the boy be!"

The voice was nearby, unfamiliar, and slightly muffled by all the ringing in Reaves's ears, but it sounded like it might be someone on his side. He turned his aching head in the direction he thought the words had come from and received another blow for his trouble.

He tried to shout a favorite expletive, but it came out sounding garbled and pitiful through the gag roughly tied across his mouth.

"He's awake. Stop hitting him."

Again the voice was trying to provide aid. It didn't sound like Fisher, although Fisher might be more likely to cheer on his tormentor. "Oh, I'm just getting started, old man."

A different voice. Someone who didn't sound friendly or concerned. Caleb assumed it was the bastard currently rearranging his face.

"Take his blindfold and gag off. Let's actually ask him a question since we went to the trouble of inviting him to the party."

Caleb jerked away when rough hands touched him, fumbled to undo the rag threaded through his lips. The same grip tightened their hold before jerking the blindfold from his eyes.

Reaves blinked, trying to focus on his surroundings to get his bearings. He was no longer in the graveyard with Fisher, but in some sort of cabin. It was bigger than Jim's hunting lodge, modern. He was in the center of what he presumed was the main living area. There was a large leather couch and chair, tables of various sizes, and a massive stone fireplace on the far wall. The head of a wild boar hung above the mantle, its unnatural glassy brown eyes glowering at Caleb.

The stuffed pig wasn't the only one staring and Caleb fought off the sudden wave of nausea to return the favor. Four strange men surrounded him. He tried to reach out telepathically, but received a sharp pain through the skull for his effort. He would have to rely on his other five senses to scope the situation until his head stopped hurting.

They all looked human. No glowing eyes or shimmering in and out of corporeal existence. He didn't smell sulfur. Of course that wouldn't rule out a shape-shifter or countless other things that could take human form. But the run-of-the-mill supernatural baddies did not use rope and gags, nor did they hang out in ritzy cabins.

There was a bald guy with a too-tight t-shirt leaning against the door. He looked like a body-builder and the blank expression on his doggish face lent to an IQ falling in the same range as his body mass index score. Both had to be extremely low.

The other guy next to him seemed nervous and out of sorts. He was slight in comparison to the other goon and didn't look much older than Caleb. He avoided making eye contact with Reaves and moved around the large man to get to the exit. "I'm going to check in with the others-let them know the status," he mumbled before making a hasty retreat.

Great. There were others.

Caleb turned his attention to his two closest captors. They were a study in contrast. One was tall, lanky, with wavy dark-hair and olive skin. He was clean-shaven, dressed in jeans and a sweater. His bosom buddy was slightly shorter, blond with a mustache, beady blue eyes and pasty complexion. Until proper introductions were made Caleb would think of them as Starsky and Hutch. Caleb had fond memories of watching the late 1970's detective show featuring two police men, the dark haired Starsky and theblond Hutch who drove around in a red Ford Torino

"Did somebody mention a party?" Caleb croaked. His throat was sore and his tongue felt like he'd fallen asleep with a mouthful of cotton balls. It was similar to his first experience with a Tequila hangover. At least then he'd had a somewhat sympathetic John Winchester to fill him in on the details of what exactly had landed him on the cold-tile floor of a run-down motel bathroom.

He wished John would make a surprise appearance. Caleb wouldn't mind the loud voice or the dressing down he would undoubtedly get from his mentor for getting caught by a bunch of humans.

"This is not exactly a function I imagine you would attend with intention."

Caleb looked towards the man speaking. The man who had defended him earlier. Like Caleb he was tied to a chair and by the bruises he was sporting, the poor guy was obviously also on Starsky and Hutch's shit-list. That was where the similarity ended. His fellow captive was at least twenty years older, black, and better dressed.

Reaves offered him a slow smile that made his face hurt. "What? No girls? Because I really don't mind being tied up if there's a pay off in the end."

"He's a funny guy." Pseudo-Hutch spoke up, stepping close to Caleb. "I didn't expect that."

Caleb glanced up at him. "I know. The sense of humor throws people. They see the dark good looks and great body and think there can't possibly be more." Reaves shrugged. "I'm filthy rich, too. Ain't that a bitch?"

"Yet all that luck has landed you in a very bad place." Hutch clucked his tongue. "How do you explain that, Golden Boy?"

"Not sure." Caleb forced another smile. "Are you after my family's fortune? Because I knew that would come back to bite me in the ass some day." Honestly, he had no clue what was going on, and it was unnerving. Give him a ghost, poltergeist, or furry any day over a psycho.

"I don't think this has anything to do with your money." Reaves's fellow captive spoke up again and he looked at him. "That wouldn't explain me being here."

"So you're not a long lost relative?"

"Despite the uncanny resemblance, no, I'm afraid not, son. I'm Griffin Porter."

Caleb schooled his reaction. Griffin Porter was practically a legend. "And our hosts?" He inquired.

"I'm afraid I can't help you there."

"You can call me Sid," Hutch spoke up. He gestured to the dark-haired man Caleb had dubbed Starsky. "This is Mathews. He's running things, and the big handsome fella' in the back is Mikey." Sid glanced to the bald man. "Mikey say hello to our guests."

Mikey grunted and Sid laughed with more exuberance than was called for. "He's a quiet one, our Mikey. But you should see him handle a blade. It's a thing of beauty."

"Enough small talk." Mathews moved towards the prisoners now. "Who we are is the least of your worries at the present. You should be concerned about the reason you both are here."

"That would be?" Caleb raised a brow. He had his theories, but his head hurt too badly to run through the scenarios.

Mathews didn't seem to appreciate Reaves's blasé approach. He wrapped his hands around Caleb's right wrist and squeezed it in a crushing grip. "The rings you wear."

Caleb forced himself not to flinch as he glanced down at the band of silver on his finger. "What are you the jewelry Nazi?"

The hold was released, but Mathews brought his fist up and backhanded Reaves. "Enough with the smart-ass routine."

"Listen to me you Neanderthals." Caleb's new buddy Griffin Porter was speaking again and if it kept Mathews from hitting him, Reaves would gladly let the man talk. "I don't know what you think you're going to accomplish by this, but you have no idea what you're messing with."

Sid swaggered closer to the black man. "You mean your precious Brotherhood, old man?"

Caleb glanced at the blond. He had a smug smile on his face. They knew about The Brotherhood.

"I think we know exactly what we're messing with," Sid replied with his ever present stupid grin.

"Really?" Griffin challenged Caleb swallowed thickly as the black man turned to meet his gaze. "I don't think they do, do you, son?"

Reaves shook his head. "No, Sir."

"Loyalty is noble." Mathews moved towards them, studying Caleb more intently. "I've heard you're all very protective of one another. That's honorable." He knelt in front of the young hunter. "And it's also a weakness to be exploited."

"I'm loyal to no one." Caleb lied easily. John had taught him all about the possibility of capture, the ways one could be tortured for information. It wasn't a nice bedtime story, but it was a necessity in warfare.

"Then you won't mind if I put a knife in your buddy here?" Sid asked.

Caleb glanced at the blond, noticed the nice shiny blade that had magically appeared in his gloved hand. "As long as you don't get blood on me, Dude. I'm real squeamish when it comes to body fluids."

Mathews shook his head, glancing over his shoulder to the overly muscled bald man standing behind them. He had remained eerily quiet throughout. "Mike will be disappointed to hear that. He was rather hoping you might make this difficult for us. But seeing as how you have no ties to your brothers, then I guess you won't mind telling us about Jim Murphy."

Caleb frowned "Jim who?"

Sid stepped forward and hit Caleb again. Reaves tasted blood. "Not bad. But I think your boss Mathews has better form."

"Jim. Murphy." Mathews pronounced. When Reaves said nothing the dark-haired captor jutted his chin towards the black man.

Sid pressed his blade to the older prisoner's neck until a drop of red slid down the steel surface.

Caleb licked at his split lip and frowned at Mathews. "I thought we already covered the part about me not giving a shit about this other guy you've nabbed. Your buddy doing his bad cop imitation isn't going to loosen my tongue. I didn't even know who he was until five minutes ago. I've never been one to form attachments quickly."

"I find it hard to believe that you've never met or heard of Griffin Porter" Mathews explained calmly and rationally. "Dr. Griffin Porter is not only a prominent scientist but a well-respected _hunter_."

Caleb shrugged. "Never heard of him. But then I've never really been much of a science geek and I'm totally against hunting. I'd be a vegetarian if I had to kill my own food." He turned to face the newly introduced hunter, feigning contriteness. "No offense, man."

"None taken." Griffin inclined his head. "I have no idea who you are, either."

"This is Caleb Reaves." Mathews was talking again. He looked at Porter, folded his arms over his chest. "I'm also baffled he has escaped your attention. After all, he is the eighteen-year-old son of Dr. Mackland Ames, who happens to be one of the leaders of your secret club. Caleb here is also the protégé of John Winchester, another influential constituent if my intel serves me well. More importantly, he's practically like a grandson to your dear old friend Pastor James Euripides Murphy."

"You don't say." Griffin looked chagrined. "The things you miss out on when you don't reach out and touch someone."

"I'm real good at reaching out and touching people." Sid turned his feral gaze on Reaves again. "In fact, I'm so talented I'm sure I'll change your mind about the whole disinterested party bit."

"You don't know me very well." Caleb smiled at Sid. "I can be a stubborn bastard when I want to be."

Sid bent down into Reaves's personal space once again, his stale breath reeking of cigarette smoke. Caleb winced. "I know more about you than you think, Caleb Thomas Reaves." He nodded to Mike who was standing silent sentry behind them. "In fact, I even know your big weakness–your green Kryptonite. Mikey, go get my secret weapon, will ya?"

"Sure thing, Sid," the large man answered.

Caleb watched dispassionately as Mikey, the walking mountain moved out of the room and disappeared down a hallway. He glanced up at the blond towering over him. "Sid, was it?" Sid nodded, and Caleb continued. "Don't tell me you guys are in to props?"

"I've not seen them show any signs of intelligence yet." Griffin interjected as an interested observer might. "However, even apes and chimpanzees use tools."

"No need for anything fancy." Sid didn't look insulted. In fact he appeared amused. "I like the good old basics. It's amazing what a man can do with Mother Nature when he has the right mindset. I myself like fire."

"How Cro-Magnon man of you." Caleb commented as he watched Sid move towards the hearth in front of them where a roaring fire was ablaze. "Thanks for sparing us the whole loincloth by the way."

Sid ignored him, continuing his monologue. "A lot of people are afraid of being burned." The blond squatted in front of the flames, reached his hands out towards the fire. He turned his head to look at the captives again. "What about you, Reaves? What are you afraid of?"

Caleb opened his mouth but his words were stolen. As if Sid's words had conjured it, Caleb's worst fear materialized before him. Mikey re-entered the room but he wasn't alone.

He held a struggling Dean Winchester in his grasp.

RcJ

A/N: Never fear wee Sammy fans. He is here too and in rare form in chapter 3. I also just finished writing a scene with him and Caleb that takes place in later chapters that I really love. Of course, I may hate it tomorrow and rip it to shreds, jump up and down on it's confetti remains, then use it for fodder in my garden...if only I had a garden, but we'll see how that goes. Also, Duran Huges is that same evil Duran Hughes from The Line. My, my, my...the plot thickens. Lions, Tigers, and Psychos oh my!


	3. Chapter 3

Paper Tiger

Ch 3

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Just a quick note about timelines. This flashback takes place soon after Growing Pains. As has been pointed out to both Tidia and myself by some readers and by one of our diligent 'hunter' archivist at The Tomb, I have messed up in some stories on ages and dates. I will definitely try to be more careful, but having gone back and forth for the sake of back stories I have slipped up a little. Please be forgiving, and patient. I do appreciate the heads-up though. I've got to admit some of my mistakes in hindsight are quite funny. Wills caught one in Friendly Fire that had me rolling in the floor. Sigh. (Bad Ridley for not doing better research.) Anyway, thanks for your support and for reading! I hope you enjoy this part as Tidia and I tossed it back and forth about ten times. If you could see the mark-ups and the comments….let's just say it would be a whole different kind of entertainment. Reviews are always appreciated!

PS. No Deans were harmed in the making of this story.

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**In waking a tiger, use a long stick. - Mao Tse-Tung**

"Dean!"

The ten-year-old was struggling in Mike's hands. As soon as Dean saw Caleb his eyes widened. He tried to move towards the hunter, but the giant shoved him towards Sid instead.

"Get your hands off him!" Caleb snarled, trying in vain to free himself. So much for remaining cool and aloof. "Don't touch him." None of John's lectures had included this scenario. Enduring torture was one thing, but a threat to Dean or Sam was something entirely different.

Dean was gagged, but he was mumbling fiercely, fighting Sid.

"I'd calm down, kid." Sid gave the boy a vicious shake. "You don't want me to bring your baby brother out instead, do you?"

Caleb's chest tightened at the mention of the youngest Winchester and Dean stilled. They had both Winchester boys. Caleb wondered how the men had managed that feat. He would wager money that John was still on a hunt, the boys alone-unprotected. The big question lingered: What did the kidnappers want?

"What do you want?" Griffin asked his voice much steadier than Caleb's. "What could be so important you would threaten the lives of innocent children?"

"Our reasons aren't important at this time." Mathews motioned to Mikey, who stood in front of Caleb. "All you need to know is that if you cooperate no one will be hurt."

"Don't be so sure of that," Caleb growled, glaring up at the muscle-bound goon in front of him. "Because I'm going to put a bullet in your pit bull, and then tear his buddy with the bad teeth limb from limb."

"Those are brave words for someone tied to a chair." Mathews retorted. "It really would be better for everyone if you put those thoughts out of your mind."

Caleb found it ironic that their dark-haired captor should use those specific words; Caleb was going to use his mind to accomplish what his restrained body could not. He'd been practicing his mental skills. And although he was not telekinetic like his father, he could wreak havoc in another person's mind with just a focused thought. "You'd be surprised what I can accomplish with the right motivation."

"Son…" Griffin warned.

Unfortunately, Caleb had already blocked out everything around him. Everything but the black rage he was feeling towards the men who were threatening his family.

The young psychic would start with the idiot Sid who was manhandling Dean. Caleb took a deep breath and concentrated on the image of a huge sledge hammer, which he would use to unleash his fury on the metaphoric rocks in the bastard's head. Maybe Reaves would get lucky and the man would die from an arterial bleed. He'd never tried that trick, but there was a first time for everything.

Instead of watching the blond henchman fall by the psychic's efforts, Caleb found his own head in the vice grip. Pain tore through his skull as if Sid had been wielding a real hammer and slammed it against Caleb's temple. He cried out before he could stop himself, seeing a myriad of black dots swim before his closed eyes. "Fuck!" Caleb would have fallen forward if not for the ropes keeping his body upright. His head lolled to his chest.

Dean's muffled cries had Caleb blinking, trying to catch his stolen breath. Caleb's heart was racing at the unexpected assault and he was trying to figure it all out when he heard Sid's nasty laugh.

"Poor kid doesn't know his own strength."

Caleb lifted his head, not understanding why his abilities had betrayed him. He glared at Sid. "What did you do?"

"He didn't do anything." Matthews knelt on the floor beside Reaves. He waited for the teen to look at him. "I suspect you caused that all on your own."

"They know about us, Caleb." Griffin's voice was casual, but when he looked at Reaves his dark eyes held a touch of empathy. "Despite their obvious flaws, they've done their homework. I have my suspicions that whatever drug they used on you makes it quite difficult for a psychic to perform. They dosed me with the same thing when I was taken. It's a unique form of sterilization, I have to admit."

Sid snorted. "Like that drug they give rapists in prison. Drugs versus going under the knife for castration. Only Mr. Mathews's little cocktail replaces a good old fashioned lobotomy." The blond leaned close to Dean's ear. "Of course if your good buddy Caleb wants, I won't mind busting his head open and cutting something out. You and your kid brother can watch."

"Don't talk to him!" Caleb ordered, but his voice lacked bravado. He met Dean's scared gaze and tried to silently convey some kind of reassurance. But realization of their helplessness had set in like a slow thick fog and he was beginning to feel smothered. Reaves took another breath and it was like inhaling wet cement. "What do you want from us?"

"We want to know about Murphy."

Caleb and Griffin exchanged looks, and Griffin spoke up. "Jim Murphy is a pastor at a church in Kentucky. I've known him for almost twenty years."

"He's friends with my father," Caleb added.

"You don't really think I've gone to the trouble to bring you all here to have such trivial facts parroted to me, do you? I want to know something I can't find out from any good private detective."

Caleb looked at Mathews. "He makes a killer apple pie, a mean glass of sweet tea, and has an annoying habit of starting every morning by listening to Bach and Beethoven."

Mathews sighed and nodded to Mikey who slammed his fist into Caleb's stomach and followed up with a back-handed blow to the hunter's face.

"Next time it won't be you who suffers," Mathews promised.

Reaves coughed, gasping slightly as he wondered if Mikey hadn't just smashed one of his kidneys.

"Caleb!"

Dean's clear voice had him jerking upright, although he regretted it instantly. Sid had removed the boy's gag and pulled him closer to the fireplace.

"It's okay, Deuce. I got this covered." He forced a smile and then looked up at Mathews. "Maybe you could be a little more specific."

"I can do that."

"We know Jim Murphy is the leader of this Brotherhood you two belong to. I believe you call him The Guardian. We merely want access to that which he guards."

"He guards The Brotherhood itself," Porter replied, indignantly. "He watches over the men and women who fight a daily war against the forces of evil. Something men of your obvious stature and narrow-mindedness could never understand. What you're searching for is elusive and as unattainable as the Holy Grail."

"I don't think so." Mathews rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "In any war there are spoils…untold fortunes and weapons of great power. We believe Jim Murphy holds both of these. We want to know where the loot is hidden and where the silver comes from."

"Silver?" Griffin repeated. "What silver?"

Caleb swallowed thickly, careful to school his own reaction as he glanced to Porter. "I'm guessing he's not referring to Pastor Jim's hair."

"I'm speaking of the metal used to make the rings you both wear-that all ordained members of The Brotherhood wear."

Reaves hadn't been expecting that. He wasn't sure what kind of secret intel would be asked of him, but the location of where their rings came from had never even registered on the radar. If truth be told, Caleb had never even wondered about it. John Winchester had given him his ring with Jim's blessing. That had been all that mattered to Reaves.

"You can't be serious." From Griffin's scathing tone he also was blown out of the water. "You have gone through this nonsense to find the source of our jeweler?"

Mathews was not amused. He jutted his chin at his partner Sid, who dragged Dean closer to the hearth.

"I take it the kid here doesn't really get into roasting marshmallows, seeing as how his pretty mommy was killed in that nasty house fire," Sid said, a maniacal grin twisting his face.

Even without his abilities Caleb's mind instantly picked up on the bastard's intentions. "Stop!" Caleb yelled.

"Stop what?" Sid struggled with Dean. "I'm just going to give the kid a taste of what he's been missing. Boy needs to face his fears."

Reaves whipped his gaze to Mathews. "I don't know where the damn silver comes from! I swear I don't."

"What about a place where weapons would be stored?"

"Weapons? You mean like guns and knives. Every damn hunter has their own arsenal."

"I'm not talking about those kinds of weapons. I'm talking about 'special' artifacts-objects of power!"

"You've got to be kidding me! You want Aladdin's Lamp? Whoever supplied your intel is fucked up. We're not those kinds of hunters!"

"Don't play me for a fool, Reaves!" Mathews encroached on Caleb's personal space further. "I know a lot about what hunters do, what they encounter in their work. It's not uncommon to find things that fairytales are made-up of."

Caleb shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about, man."

"I find that hard to believe." Mathews growled. "You weren't chosen at random. You spend time at Murphy's farm, summers, holidays. Your father is one of Murphy's advisors-The Scholar. You, yourself, are in training to be the successor to the position of Knight. Then there is the fact you and the Winchester brothers are like grandsons to the old man. Don't deny that."

"I'm not fucking denying anything." Panic was stealthily encroaching, a cloud of helplessness. "We spend time there. Our fathers are part of The Triad. Pastor Jim's good to us. But I swear to God I've never seen any silver except the rings on the hands of hunters. The only weapons I've been exposed to are anything you could get at a good militia rally or at an occult store."

"The boy is telling the truth," Griffin chimed in. "I've known Murphy longer, since before he became The Guardian. Never once has he mentioned anything about the source of the rings or any supernatural antiquities of mass destruction."

"So he what…buys the rings at Wal-mart?" Mathews snapped, showing his first sign of anger. He gestured wildly with his hand. "You're asking me to believe there is absolutely nothing special about the ore which men risk their lives and souls to acquire. Isn't that like saying Excalibur was a regular sword or that the Fountain of Youth was just a puddle of water?" He motioned to Sid. "Show these men we aren't fools."

"Gladly." Sid pulled Dean to the edge of the fire, grabbed the boy's right hand and moved it towards the licking flames.

"No!" Dean cried, trying to pull his hand back. "Don't."

"Let him go!" Caleb shifted his gaze from Sid and Dean to Mathews. "He's just a kid. Don't do this!"

"Don't hurt the child!" Griffin ordered and Sid hesitated.

The blond shot his dark-haired partner a look Reaves couldn't quite decipher.

"Boss?"

Mathews leveled his dark gaze on Caleb. "Where is the silver?"

"I don't know!" Caleb shouted.

"Where are the weapons stored?"

"Did you not hear me the first time? I. Don't. Know!"

Dean cried out as his hand moved close enough to the flames to feel the intense heat stinging his small palm.

"You want a ring, take mine!" Caleb struggled fiercely. "I'll give it to you, you sonofabitch! Just don't hurt Dean. Please."

Sid inched the child's hand closer and Dean's terrified gaze sought out his one source of safety. "Caleb!"

"Deuce!" Reaves wrestled with his bindings, feeling the blood from his raw wrists slick his hands. He ignored the pain, working harder to use the lubrication to slide free from the ropes.

"Let the boy go." Mathews told Sid.

Sid didn't instantly comply. Not until Dean yelped again.

"Do it!"

Sid pushed the boy away with a sadistic laugh, and Dean stumbled before falling to his knees. He caught himself with his uninjured hand and glared up at Sid before scampering towards Reaves. Mikey intercepted him, scooping him up off his feet like he was stuffed with cotton.

"Take him back to his room." Mathews told the bald henchman, sliding his hand through his dark wavy hair. "Then come back and help Sid with these two." He shook his head at his two captives. "This doesn't mean I believe you. We are not finished."

"That doesn't change what we know," Griffin replied. "You wasted your time by bringing us here."

"I hope for all your sakes that isn't true."

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Caleb and Griffin were led to a small room at the back of the cabin where Sid held them at gunpoint while Mike used a skeleton key to unlock the door.

"Don't you fellows get too comfortable in your suite. I'll be back to check on you."

Griffin sneered at Sid. "That's okay, Sid. We can turn down the beds ourselves. But perhaps some room service?"

"Yeah," Caleb added giving Sid his best John Winchester 'I eat men like you for lunch' glare. "Like your head on a fucking platter."

The blond henchman laughed, but it sounded forced. "You are funny, kid."

"I wasn't joking." Caleb was going to hurt the bastard the first chance he got.

Mikes opened the door and Sid used the Glock to motion them in. "Lucky for me, I've got the upper hand."

"Tides turn," Caleb said.

The room was large in comparison to the rest of the cabin. There was a door off to the side leading to a small half-bath. Two curtained windows breached the knotted pine walls. There were several paintings of horses and a pair of deer heads for decoration.

Reaves made a cursory sweep like John had taught him, searching for possible exits, any advantage. He noted the two twin beds, the small closet, an overflowing bookshelf, and several toys. But no Dean and Sam.

He turned to face his captors. "Where are the boys?"

Sid gave him a bawdy smile. "They've been staying with Mikey. He has a soft spot for kids."

Caleb stepped forward. "If you hurt them…"

"I'm sure these gentlemen realize if they injure the children they'll be securing nothing but an early grave. It wouldn't serve their pursuit in the least."

Sid shifted his gaze to Griffin. "We're not stupid." He shrugged. "But we'll do what's necessary."

"I want to see them." Caleb ignored the gun pointed at his chest. "Now!"

Griffin held up a hand to keep the teen from moving closer to the henchmen. "The boys would be easier to handle if they were with someone they knew. I don't think anyone got much rest last night."

"Brats didn't make it easy." Sid scratched his head. "What do you think, Mikey?"

"Whatever you think, Sid," Mike replied.

Sid jutted his chin towards the door. "I'd watch the little one if I were you. He kicks like a mule."

Mike sighed as he realized he'd volunteered for the job of retrieving the boys. "As long as he doesn't bite me again."

Caleb noticed the teeth marks on the man's hand and he grinned. He hoped Sammy had made it as painful as possible.

"You must know that by now people have noticed our disappearance," Griffin offered.

Sid kept the gun pointed at Caleb's chest, but turned his head towards the black man. "We were kind of planning on that."

"They will begin looking for us and they will be the kind of people you will hope don't find you."

Sid snorted. "I have a great deal of experience staying under the radar, Dr. Porter." He flashed his gold-toothed smile. "But your concern is touching."

Griffin looked doubtful. "Have you ever been hunted? Have you been the sought after prey of a predator as instinctive and well-trained as the fiercest lion?"

Sid rolled his eyes. "I've got warrants from twenty five states, old man. No one's ever come close to bringing me in."

"The Brotherhood won't be looking to bring you in. They'll be out to put an end to you, Sid." Porter gestured to one of the stuffed deer on the wall. "I've seen men field-dressed and mounted on their hallowed halls for far less offenses than those you have committed."

Caleb realized Griffin's bluff, but enjoyed it just the same. The Brotherhood honored human life. Protected it above all else-sometimes to its detriment. But it didn't keep the young hunter from getting a kick out of the flash of fear and uncertainty reflected in Sid's blood-shot eyes.

"Caleb!"

Sam Winchester's loud shout startled them all as the boy broke free from Mikey and barreled into the room. He ran around Sid and headed straight for Reaves who bent down to scoop him up.

"Sammy."

The five-year-old practically scaled Reaves like a frightened cat would a tree, clinging to the teen. "Caleb," he repeated, burying his face against Caleb's neck.

"Hey, Runt." Reaves hugged him back, taking comfort in the fact the boy seemed unhurt. "I thought you and your big brother knew not to hang out with riff raff."

"We're not hanging out," Sam mumbled. "We're kidnapped."

Caleb tightened his hold, glanced over the five-year-old's shoulder to check on Dean, who was still being held by Mikey, the movable mountain. "I know, Sammy." He rubbed one hand up and down the boy's back as he felt Sam tremble. "But it's okay. I'm here now."

Sam lifted his head from the psychic's shoulder. "Are you kidnapped too?"

"'fraid so, Runt." Reaves shifted the little boy to one arm and pinned Mikey with a frosty glare. "Let Dean go."

The man did as Caleb requested and Dean jerked away with an indignant huff, straightening his Midland Heights Tigers tee.

Reaves didn't need to read Dean to recognize the telling body language. It was taking all the restraint the kid had not to run to Caleb. Hands fisted, jaw clenched, Dean sauntered purposefully towards safety. Defiance radiated with every controlled step. He stubbornly refused to give into any childish need to be comforted no matter how justified it was.

Caleb heard the door slam and the ominous click of their exit being sealed. He knelt down with Sam still clinging to him.

"Deuce?" Caleb put his hand on the side of the boy's neck and gave it a slight squeeze. "You okay?"

"His throat's sore," Sam replied, glancing up at his brother.

"That why you're so quiet." Caleb tilted the boy's chin up until Dean was forced to look at him. He remembered the boys had been sick. "Hey? Talk to me."

It only took their eyes meeting for the hard fought defenses to crack slightly. Dean's lower lip trembled and one tear slid down his cheek. He shook his head and Caleb felt his own resolve falter, his eyes burned and his throat threatened to close up.

"Don't cry, Dean," Sam whispered. "Caleb's here now."

Caleb didn't think his presence would do them one damn bit of good, but now wasn't the time to point it out. He used his free arm to pull Dean to him and was slightly surprised when the kid attached himself with Sam's same fierceness.

"It's okay, kiddo." He breathed into Dean's hair. Both boys were shaken. He feared asking how they had ended up in the current situation. "I've got you."

"How's his hand?"

Griffin's question had Sam clinging tighter to Caleb, hiding his face from the man, and Dean jerking away from Reaves. "Dean?" Caleb asked quietly.

"It's fine." The boy's voice was hoarse. "I'm okay."

Porter knelt to the boy's level. "I'm a doctor. Burns are nothing to mess around with, son."

"What's wrong with Dean's hand?" Sam hesitantly looked up, his concern for his brother outweighing the wariness for Griffin.

"Nothing," Dean answered. "I'm okay, Sammy."

Caleb set Sam down and moved in front of the ten-year-old. "Let me see, Deuce."

Reaves's relief at seeing the boys basically whole and in one piece had momentarily overshadowed what had taken place in the interrogation. It was sure to bring about some nightmares.

He took the ten-year-old hand turning it palm-side up in his. The burn wasn't bad. It hadn't blistered, but it was red and looked painful. Dean winced and his breath caught as Caleb gently ran his fingers over it. "I'm sorry."

He'd seen Dean hurt before. It was the nature of boys. There were skinned knees, bee stings, and the one instance of a hunt gone amuck, but watching him be hurt intentionally with malice had twisted something deep inside Caleb. It would take a long time to erase the image from his memory or the bitter taste of fear and failure. His head told him there was nothing he could have done; his hands were tied-literally. But the heavy knot in his gut, the one that was threatening to make him sick, whispered a different story.

Dean looked at him, no hit of condemnation or blame. "It's alright." Dean was always the one trying to fix things-patch up the people he cared about. Even when he was the one who could use the fixing.

"We should put something on that." Griffin edged closer, studying the wound over Reaves's shoulder. "There's a first aid kit in the bathroom under the sink." Porter turned to Sam. "Would you get it for me, Sam?"

The youngest Winchester looked to Caleb. "It's okay, Sammy. Griffin is a good friend of Pastor Jim's. He's a hunter like your Dad and Mac."

That seemed endorsement enough and the five-year-old took off towards the bathroom.

"How did you know that?" Caleb gave Porter a wary look. "About the kit?"

Griffin flashed the younger hunter a disarming smile. "Because I put it there. This cabin belongs to me."

Reaves's frown deepened and without thinking he attempted to brush through the other man's thoughts. It was a defensive instinct, one he used often to check another's intentions, categorize them as friend or foe. He rationalized to his father that it garnered important intel, and wasn't merely an invasion of privacy.

The only thing he accomplished this time was a massive knifing sensation through his skull. He inhaled quickly through his nose, releasing Dean to grab at his head where pain erupted like mortar rounds. "Damn it!"

"Caleb?" Dean gripped his arm, his voice sounding scared.

Reaves forced his eyes open with a weary sigh. "I'm okay, kid."

"You could have just asked." Griffin's grin was still in place as he shook his head in a fashion reminiscent of Jim Murphy. "Saved yourself a big headache."

"It's a habit." Caleb rubbed at his throbbing temple, somewhat chagrined by his forgetting Griffin's earlier warning about the drugs in his system.

Griffin arched a brow. "One I bet my old friend James Murphy does not approve of."

Caleb frowned. "Jim believes there are better ways than snooping."

Griffin's smile widened. "Easy for him to say when that temptation isn't just a thought away, now isn't it?"

"I found it!" Sam announced triumphantly, interrupting any reply Reaves might have made. He hoisted the battered black doctor's bag in the air. "It looks like Mac's."

"Bad habit between us doctors." Porter took the bag from Sam with a wink. "Overkill on the first aid kits." He glanced at Caleb again. "And about the cabin…surely you know a lot of hunters have places like this one. Perhaps we have become too lax on keeping them secret."

Caleb nodded. It was true. Jim had a place. So did Elkins and a few of the others in locations all across the country. They were kept stocked with provisions and weapons, were out of the way, and open to members of The Brotherhood.

Reaves slid a hand down his face. "They've done their research."

"They have." Griffin agreed. "They knew enough to come after Winchester's sons when he was out on a hunt. They knew where he was staying. They knew to take me on my way home from work when I would be alone and typically distracted. And they chose a time when you were not with one of the older, more experienced hunters. "

Sam was earnestly watching the doctor dig through the medical supplies as he spoke. "Do you have Scooby Doo Band-Aids?"

"I'm afraid not." Griffin smiled at him. "Just the boring ones."

Sam didn't hide his disappointment. "Mac has them. He has Mickey Mouse ones too." It was obvious who Sam believed was the better physician.

"I must ask where he gets his medical supplies then."

Reaves gave the man credit for his patience with Sam. The five-year-old was famous for questions and changing the subject when things being discussed didn't involve him directly, or if it was something he didn't want to hear. "Sammy, let Griffin work."

Caleb reached out and tugged the little boy to him and out of the doctor's way. Sam wrapped an arm over the psychic's shoulder. Reaves felt Sam's small fingers twist in his hair, twirling the strands in a nervous habit. Maybe a change of topic was good.

"Jim's never mentioned you being a doctor." Reaves observed casually. He cast a wary glance in Dean's direction, unaccustomed to handing over the care of either boy to a mere stranger.

Griffin motioned for Dean to hold out his hand. "I'm not, at least not in the sense your father is. I went to medical school but gravitated towards genetic research."

Caleb had to give Dean a nudge to get the boy to show Porter his hand. The black man studied the burn closer and then opened the ointment he'd chosen. "These days I'm more scientist than physician."

"A mad scientist?" Sam asked, eliciting a chuckle from Porter and a sigh from his big brother. "Like in Back to the Future?"

"He has a big imagination," Dean said, apologetically.

"And a bigger mouth," Caleb added, tickling Sam who giggled.

"I'm afraid I have not figured out the time continuum, Sam."

The much needed moment of levity was short-lived as Dean gasped and jerked his hand away from Griffin.

"Sorry." Porter received twin glares from Caleb and Sam as Dean cradled his arm to his chest. "I'm rather out of practice." He gently took the boy's hand in his once more.

"It's not bad is it?" Caleb asked.

"Superficial." Griffin assessed. "But it smarts just the same." He patted the ten-year-old on the shoulder. "Right, Dean?"

"Yeah," the boy croaked.

Porter frowned. "Sounds like you've got quite the cold too. "

"We both had colds, but mine went away." Sam explained. "Dean gave me all the medicine."

"Sam." Dean growled, letting his little brother know he was sharing too much information.

The five-year-old hung his head and leaned against Caleb. "Well, he did."

Reaves ruffled the boy's dark hair with a sigh. "Sounds just like your big brother."

"I don't have anything here for a cold, but I can help with the discomfort." Griffin turned to Caleb. "If it's alright with you."

"If what's alright with me?"

Griffin tapped his head. "I have a few special tricks of my own."

Murphy had mentioned that Griffin was psychic during one of his typical 'abilities do not make you a freak, my boy' speeches. "But the drugs…"

"Are pretty much out of my system. I've been here longer than you. Besides, making my patient feel better is worth a little headache."

Reaves pursed his lips, unsure. "What will you do?" He was not aware of what type of abilities Griffin held; only that he was quite capable.

"Nothing that will harm him. You can trust me."

Caleb moved his gaze to Dean. "You okay with it, Deuce?"

"Will it hurt?"

"You won't feel a thing." Griffin let his hand rest on Dean's head. "In fact, that's the whole point."

It wasn't entirely true. Dean felt a slight flutter, similar to what he experienced when Caleb would communicate with him telepathically. Then the throbbing from the burn on his hand disappeared as well as the scratchy discomfort in his throat. Even his headache dulled to a tolerable level and he couldn't stop the sigh of relief.

"Better?" Griffin moved his hand.

"Better than a Scooby Doo Band-Aid." Dean still sounded raspy, but at least now speaking didn't feel like swallowing shards of glass. "Nothing hurts now."

"Thanks." Caleb said. "You'll have to teach me that little trick."

"Only if you can share some of yours. I've heard you are extremely talented."

Caleb shrugged off the compliment. Death visions compared to an ability to end someone's suffering? It was a no brainer. "Seeing as how I'm on the bench for now, do you have anything up your sleeve that might help us out of here?"

Griffin sighed. "Not really. I can read people, project to some degree-like with the dulling of the pain sensors, but I need physical contact with a person to perform that. . Not very helpful in battle I'm afraid."

"But if you can touch another's mind…"

Porter shook his head. "It takes a great deal of power to be able to cause changes, to manipulate enough to do damage…for example cutting off someone's oxygen supply. I have the knowledge, but not the energy source. It's like the basketball player who knows all the plays, excels at strategy, but doesn't have the raw talent to be a star of the game."

"I guess." Caleb still didn't understand his own gift, and his father and Missouri were the only other psychics he'd worked with. They seemed to talk more about responsibility than feasibility. Although each told him he would one day 'outshine' them both.

"You told those men the password," Dean spoke up, his green gaze locked on Porter. "You read Sammy."

Griffin nodded. "I did."

Caleb frowned. "What are you talking about, Deuce?"

"The jerk that showed up at the house…the blond guy. He gave Sam the password."

"I said I was sorry," Sam cried before his brother could answer. He turned to Caleb to plead his defense. "I wouldn't have opened the door if he didn't say Thundercats."

"It's not your fault, Sam," Griffin confessed. "I was outside in the car." He glanced to Reaves. "They threatened to take them by force if I didn't cooperate. I assumed it would be better to follow the path of least resistance."

Caleb raked a hand through his dark hair. _Damn. _Not many people knew about the 'password' policy. These men infiltrated the inner core of The Brotherhood. "Someone's on the inside."

"I was thinking the same thing." Griffin agreed.

Sam turned an accusing gaze to Griffin. "Pastor Jim says you're not supposed to read people without permission. Psychics have rules."

"That sounds just like Jim." Porter attempted a look of sincere contriteness. "I apologize, Sam. I hope you'll forgive me."

The little boy nodded. "This time."

"But what do they want?" Dean asked.

Reaves exchanged a look with Porter. "They say they want to know where the silver that makes the rings for The Brotherhood is located."

Caleb stood and paced the room. "But I'm not sure I buy that."

"You think there's more to it?" Griffin watched the teen prowl the perimeter.

Reaves rubbed his aching jaw. "It doesn't make sense. What the hell are they going to do with it? I doubt the market is that high for silver and who's going to buy into the magical bit? And weapons…they've obviously watched Indiana Jones one too many times."

"Perhaps the silver has secrets of its own."

Caleb stopped at one of the windows and pulled the curtain back revealing bars. He cut his eyes to Porter. "Paranoid much?"

"Bears." Porter said cryptically. "Really big ass bears."

"Bears?" Dean swallowed thickly, keeping a close eye on Sam as the younger boy made his way to the bookshelf and the toys residing there. "You have bears here?"

"Black bears are abundant in these mountains. They'll break in and steal food. They can trash a place as well as take a few years off a man's life if he happens to wake up to find one rifling through his cabinets."

"Bears like honey." Sam interjected, pulling several books from the shelves. "And blackberries. But if they're really hungry they'll eat people."

"Thanks so much, Wild Kingdom." Dean snapped. "And leave those things alone."

"It's okay. He can play with anything he finds. I don't think Ethan or Elijah would mind."

"Do you have kids?" Sam perked up at the idea of other children.

"I have Godsons. But they are more Caleb's age than yours, Sam."

Sam looked pensive. "Caleb's still a kid."

Reaves glanced up from his inspection of the closet. "I am not."

Sam put a hand on his hip. "Mac makes you go to school and Daddy and Bobby tell you what to do." To Sam those were definite things that put you in the 'kid' category.

Sadly, neither point could be contested. Caleb settled for the obvious to regain some ground. "Yeah. Well school's out and your daddy isn't here."

The youngest Winchester shrugged in deference and returned to looting through the books.

"I wish Dad were here." Dean moved to one of the twin beds and sat down.

Caleb moved to the door, but gave up on it quickly. It was locked from the outside and made of heavy, solid oak. He wished John were here too.

"Chances of escape are unlikely." Griffin gestured to the window and beyond. "Even if we did manage to get out of the cabin, there are miles and miles of woods separating us from civilization or the nearest ranger's station."

Reaves moved to the bed and joined Dean. "What state are we in?"

"North Carolina."

"Where did they take you from?"

"Atlanta." Griffin replied. "Two days ago."

"Would any hunters be looking for you by now?"

"Possibly. I was doing some research for a few jobs."

"They grabbed me late last night. Fisher and I were due back today." He looked at Dean. "When was Johnny coming back?"

"Last night."

Caleb could read the trepidation in Dean's green eyes. He squeezed the boy's shoulder. "That's good news, kiddo. He'll be good and pissed by now. Nothing scarier or deadlier than a pissed-off Devil Dog."

"Devil Dog?" Griffin raised a brow at the term.

Reaves shrugged. "Marine slang. Johnny's a former Jar Head."

Porter nodded his understanding. "Well, I imagine they know they are working with a small time frame. Whatever they are planning will have to be put into motion soon." Griffin stood, gathering the medical supplies.

"You haven't heard them say anything about what that actual plan might be? Besides the whole torture us and ask questions."

"No. But I imagine we will know soon enough." Porter gestured to the other bed. "We should rest while we can. I'm going to wash up."

"Yeah." Caleb watched the doctor disappear into the small bathroom and then looked at Dean. The kid was wiped. He reached out and slid his hand over the boy's hair. "How about you guys? You pick up any info, kiddo?"

Dean yawned, shook his head. "They didn't tell us anything."

"They told Dean they would break my arm if he wasn't good," Sam piped up. "They're not very nice."

Caleb patted the bed beside him and the five-year-old abandoned the bookshelf to scamper up on the mattress. "No one's going to do anything to you, Sammy."

"That's what I told him." Dean yawned again.

Caleb scooted back on the bed, resting against the headboard. "You tired, Deuce?"

The kid nodded, shifting so he too could recline on the pillows beside Reaves. "I didn't sleep last night…" He glanced to his brother who crawled over Caleb so he could squirm between them. He'd found a stuffed dinosaur that had seen better days and clutched it to his chest. The youngest Winchester was halfway to dreamland. "I had to keep an eye on Sammy."

"I know." Caleb rested his arm over Dean's shoulders. "Get some sleep. I've got this watch."

RcJ


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Below is an unusual Ridley on her soapbox rant. This spot is usually reserved for such things as why it's so unfair that chocolate is not calorie free , why incredibly cute shoes cannot be comfortable, and the demon-possessed Tyra Banks, but I felt I might explode if I didn't say something. You do not have to read it to enjoy the next chapter in this story. My feelings will not be hurt. Feel free to skip ahead. **

**I have to take a moment to speak out about something. Up until a few moments ago, I was trying to be optimistic about the new additions to our favorite show. I want to believe Kripke's promises despite the fact that what he doesn't say and the in between the lines 'unsaid' things have me on edge. It reminds me of one of my favorite quotes, 'How could I kiss you with my eyes closed so tightly?'. Translation: Love is blind and so is adoration. But after watching that interview on E-online with the horrendous new blond hunter who had the audacity to insult the fans, our intelligence, and question our pathology, I am raging for everyone to write about your concerns or your views. She apparently does not realize that Supernatural is in part so special because of the fans, because of those 'teens' she bashed if ever so carefully, and if she thinks so highly of the new characters to think those of us out in 'Reality' land are jealous then she is in for a shock. I work with young people everyday. They are not stereotypical or stupid nor are their feelings frivolous. I for one know how smart Supernatural fans are and why they love the show. I hear it repeated in almost every review and passionate criticism. It's because of the incredible brotherhood dynamic, the loyalty between two wonderful characters. I've never seen Madison trashed or Sarah dissed, nor have fans ranted about any well thought out, well-matched characters that Dean was paired with like Carmen. If after watching that interview you do not feel betrayed and talked down to, then I'm concerned. I'm not saying Kripke has control of his new dolls, but someone needs to sit them down and explain why they have a job and who the hell they're really working for…the freakin' fans. Let them take all the kickboxing classes together they want, they have no idea the power of the pen or the mightiness of a cohesive group, joined together in battle for a worthy cause. I hope they are good actresses because if Kripke is wanting to exude intelligence and cunning and not just ample cleavage, Katie is going to have to work really, really hard. I am a pissed off Supernatural Fan. Hear me roar. Imagine the Impala's engine only louder. Visit the Hunter's Tomb for addresses if you don't already have them. **

**Okay, if you've not been frightened away…enjoy this story. I would love to hear all reviews, but if you disagree with my stand on the above subject, please don't share it with me for at least a few days when my blood pressure has returned to normal. I don't want Pollyanna pleas to give this a chance, to trust Kripke, to excuse the new girl's ignorance, I'm feeling good with the rage right now. You will have as much luck as trying to persuade me to join the America's Next Top Model fan club. **

**I now return you to tonights regularly scheduled programming...**

Chapter 4

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

_The human race's prospects of survival were considerably better when we were defenseless against tigers than they are today when we have become defenseless against ourselves.__  
_**_Arnold J. Toynbee_**

Jim had been gone for a few hours to speak with Duran about the alleged 'conversation' with Julian Smith. Sam and Dean had been gone for over sixteen hours with no word. John was like a caged tiger, and pounced when Bobby's phone rang.

Mackland shot Winchester a look of irritation and was nearly pummeled in the Knight's quest to answer the phone. Bobby was even more disgruntled since the phone was in his shirt pocket. "Damn it, John!" Singer snarled, swatting the other hunter away as he answered. "Singer."

Bobby stepped further away. "Fisher? Where the hell are you?"

John and Mac exchanged looks.

"What do you mean he wasn't there when you came to?" The mechanic ran a hand down his face. "Goddamnit, Fisher! I told you to watch out for him."

Mackland stood, the color draining from his face. "Bobby?"

"How long ago? And when were you going to call me, Fisher? "Singer stepped further away afraid he would have both Scholar and Knight pawing at him. "Were there tracks?" He lowered his voice, turned his back on his fellow hunters. "Any blood or sulfur?"

Bobby exhaled heavily. "Nobody just vanishes. Get your fucking head out of your ass and search the perimeter until you come up with something better than his gear and his Jeep keys. Call me back in one hour with some news or else I will make it my personal quest that all you get is recon jobs."

The mechanic took a deep breath and cut the connection. He turned to face the twin gazes, searing a hole in the back of his head. "Looks like we got another problem, boys."

"For God's sake, Bobby," Mackland growled. "What's going on? Did something happen to my son?"

"He's gone."

"Gone?" John stood up. "What do you mean gone?"

"Fisher said they were digging up a grave to get the shin bone of a holy man when…"

"What?" Ames asked, with a confused shake of his head.

Singer waved a hand in the air. "Do you listen to anything I say? I explained this to you earlier. To destroy a troll you need to pierce its heart with…"

"Bobby!" John snapped. "Spare us the long-winded details and tell us what the hell happened to Caleb."

"That's just it. The last thing that fool Fisher remembers is digging the grave last night. Then nothing. He came to a couple of hours ago with one hell of a headache, laid out by the half-dug tomb. All of Caleb's stuff was there, but there wasn't a sign of him."

Mackland swallowed hard, his gaze going to Johnathan. "This isn't a coincidence. Is it?"

John rubbed a hand over his mouth. "The Knight's sons disappear, now The Scholar's kid." He growled low in his throat. "Somebody's fucking with The Triad."

"Damn it." Mackland dug the palms of his hands into his eyes. "Get Jim. This changes things."

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

When Griffin returned both boys were asleep. Caleb's eyes snapped open as Porter closed the bathroom door and turned the overhead light off. Only a lamp on the nightstand remained lit.

"You're good with them." Porter sat on the other bed, watching Reaves. "Not exactly what I expected from an eighteen-year-old kick ass hunter of all things evil."

The young psychic shrugged. He usually bristled at the mention of his 'talent' for taking care of the Winchesters, having been called John's glorified babysitter one too many times under some other hunter's breath. But in the current situation the weight of their small bodies against his, the knowledge of them temporarily safe and under his care was somehow comforting. "I just watch out for them even though they're usually a pain in the ass." He still had an image to maintain.

Griffin inclined his head. "As any Knight would do?"

"I wouldn't know about that." Reaves glanced away. "I just don't want anything bad to happen to them."

Porter reclined on the bed. "I suppose that is the beginning of any good Triad."

Caleb felt his chest tighten. He got the distinct impression the conversation had just veered off the casual interest path. Porter was watching for his reaction.

"What do you mean?"

Griffin crossed his hands behind his head and yawned. "I mean it is obvious that James is attempting to restore balance to The Brotherhood. The proceeding Triad failed miserably in that respect. Look at our current circle of power."

"The Triad is composed of great men," Caleb snapped. He lowered his voice when Sam stirred against him. "Jim, Mac and John are the best hunters I know."

"I didn't mean it as an insult, only an observation." Griffin looked at the teen. "They are not your typical set. Your father and Winchester are not even from hunting families."

"Greatness has to begin somewhere."

Griffin raised a brow. "Machiavelli?"

Caleb smirked. "No. Jim Murphy."

Porter laughed. "James has a poet's soul. Sometimes I think Julian chose him more for that than any other skill he held. They would sit around during hunts discussing the works of Dickens, Wharton, Dreiser and Dostoyevsky. It drove me crazy."

"You were close to Julian Smith?" Caleb had heard stories of the former guardian from Jim and Bobby. The man had died before his time after a long battle with cancer.

"I was." Griffin nodded. "And to the Knight and Scholar, Maxim and Victor as well. We grew up together, our families having been hunters for generations."

"How'd you meet Jim?" Reaves knew Murphy had not been a member of a traditional hunting family either.

"Father Solomon found James in an alley…like a stray cat." Porter smiled. "I can't believe it has been almost thirty years."

"Father Solomon was a hunter?" Reaves knew Solomon O'Shaughnessy had been a mentor to Jim in his work as a pastor. Murphy had worked as an associate pastor under the man's tutelage.

"Yes. A good one. He also dealt in weapons and antiquities, running a sort of home base out of his parish. God's greatest work, he called it. He was all for saving lost souls. Jim Murphy fit in that category. I'm not sure what the Devil had in store for James, but he definitely was in need of a rescue from himself and his past demons."

"What was Jim doing in an alley?" Caleb's interest was piqued. Jim never explained exactly how he had been inducted into The Brotherhood, always replying the same way with the same enigmatic smile. _'I was led into the flock like a lost sheep and fighting wolves became my life's mission. Never once did I imagine myself the shepherd._'

"Bleeding to death."

Reaves frowned. He found the thoughts of the invincible Jim Murphy being hurt even thirty years in the past somehow upsetting. "What happened?"

Griffin rose up on elbow, eager to fill in the blanks. "Jim couldn't have been more than twenty-six, when his life took a turn for the worst. He'd been working as an associate pastor with Father Solomon for about a year, when he lost his wife Emma. James was mad at the world and God." Porter shook his head. "You wouldn't know it now, but the man was a one-man wrecking crew. He liked to fight and could drink most men under the table. The Irish in him, you know. Losing Emma gave him more than enough reason to do a lot of both."

"So Father Solomon told him about The Brotherhood to help Jim get himself together?" Caleb did not think disturbing revelations of all things supernatural being part of reality would have been very comforting.

"Not in the beginning. Solomon tried to help James back to the Lord, but his anger was more powerful than any scripture the pastor could quote. After he found Jim drunk and beaten in that alley, he figured drastic measures were called for."

Caleb thought history often repeated itself. The story sounding much like John Winchester's without the fire demon and two small boys.

"Jim was not ready to get himself together as you put it. He had a lot of rage and hatred, the kind of dark fury that does things to a man's soul. You see, he'd married Emma when he was younger than you before going to the war where I suppose like other good soldiers he did god-awful things to other boys all in the name of patriotism and freedom. He told me once that the thoughts of Emma kept him sloshing through the rice fields of Vietnam, even as his comrades fell around him."

"He was a hero." Caleb interjected, feeling the need to clarify. He and Dean had found the Purple Heart, the discharge papers in the attic at the farm. Dean had asked the pastor about it, but Jim had merely patted him on the head and said sometimes prizes were given for all the wrong reasons. He let Sammy wear it for the rest of that summer. Maybe they were all casualties of war.

"He went from one battlewar to another." Griffin's smile faded some. "Father Solomon merely utilized Jim's talents as a warrior to give him a much-needed distraction. He told him about The Brotherhood, sent him to Julian to train. It gave James an outlet for his anger, an enemy he could fight against instead of that elusive villain who had taken his true love. Julian in turn sent him on hunts with me, Maxim and Victor."

Reaves nodded. "I've heard stories about the jobs you all did."

Porter snorted. "James can spin a yarn."

Caleb brushed his fingers through Sam's hair, thinking of the stories Murphy would tell the boys. "Yeah. He loves fairytales."

"I'm not surprised he didn't share his early years in The Brotherhood with you boys, but I do hope he has told you all about the beginnings of The Brotherhood…about how Triads work."

Reaves shrugged. Jim had told him some and Caleb had read some in the older journals. None of it really mattered to him. He liked to hunt. He liked being a part of something bigger than himself. He liked the fact he could do good…when he was so obviously born of evil. Serving in The Brotherhood was the real honor. "I guess."

"Then you understand why I said what I did about your father and Johnathan Winchester. Triads are generally raised together, as close as brothers. Many have been actual biological siblings."

"My dad and John are close. Sometimes it's quality of time not quantity that builds a bond." And most of the time it had nothing to do with blood. "Friendships forged in the fires of battle are sometimes stronger than family ties." Jim said that all the time.

"I can appreciate such sentiment too, Caleb, considering I have no real family to speak of either." Griffin gave the boy a sad shake of his head, but hurried on before Reaves could offer a comeback. "But I feel that Merlin would have disagreed with us."

Caleb ignored the ache Griffin's observation invoked. He tightened his hold on the boys and frowned. "Merlin?"

"Yes. You must know that The Brotherhood is purported to have been started by him. In his quest to find the perfect warrior to help battle evil on the mortal plane, Merlin inadvertently became the founding father of our kinship."

"Merlin…the wizard?" Reaves had not heard this version of the story, although he had heard his father and John jokingly call Jim by the legendary wizard's name. Maybe Porter was playing with his head. Knights of the Round Table were one thing…but Merlin?

Griffin cocked a brow. "You know of another Merlin?"

The teen rolled his eyes and gestured for Griffin to go on. It wasn't like he had anything better to do. It appeared that Jim Murphy wasn't the only one who liked to tell stories.

"Despite Merlin's wisdom and diligence, the wizard soon found that most mortals were flawed and far from perfect. He would consider himself lucky to find a man with even one of the attributes his tasks would require. So in his brilliance he decided to choose not just one man, but three."

Griffin paused for effect and then continued. "One would be of strong body and stronger conviction. This man would follow the honor code of The Knight. He would defend the weak and protect the innocent. To do his job, Merlin would present him with a sword of the likes the world had never seen."

Caleb raised a brow. "Let me guess. Excalibur?"

"It is not out of the realm of possibility."

Reaves snorted. "And you call yourself a scientist."

Porter cleared his throat and continued. "The second man Merlin would choose would have a great mind. As a Scholar, he would use logic and reasoning to decipher any problem. Merlin would bless him with some of his own magic allowing him the ability to access another's thoughts and to know the future."

"Scholars are usually psychic." Caleb knew that it was the one position of the Triad where abilities were actually praised. Over the generations the talents were wide and diverse, but the men who served were revered, not scorned. Unfortunately, that couldn't be said for any previous Knight Reaves had read about.

Griffin smiled. "Throughout history that has been the way."

"And what about the third dude? What did Merlin give The Guardian?"

"It's not what Merlin gave The Guardian, but what The Guardian would be willing to give Merlin." When Caleb frowned, Porter continued. "You see, the third man was the most difficult to find. This man had to have an incredible heart and inextinguishable spirit. He must be willing to give his life to the cause-to put the safety of others before his own."

"But he got nothing in return? Like the gifts Merlin bestowed on the other two?"

"That's where things are a little unclear." Griffin shrugged. "One of the mysteries only Guardians are privy to. And they aren't willing or allowed to share."

Caleb frowned. "You don't think these jerks who took us could have heard this story, maybe from an old hunter or maybe unearthed a journal? Maybe they're crazy enough to believe it? Maybe they think that the gift Merlin gave the Guardian is to keep the silver?"

"That's a lot of maybes, son." Again Porter smiled enigmatically. "Jim should have considered you for The Scholar instead of The Knight, Caleb Reaves."

Caleb shook his head. He was beginning to think Griffin was digging at him with all The Knight comments. "I don't even know if I'm in line to be The Knight." It was all a big mystery and almost as abstract an idea as Merlin.

"That's also the way of The Brotherhood. Albeit, The Knight is prepared and exposed more than the other two positions due to the nature of his job. I mean to secure a safe position; he would need to be aware of the other players on the board."

John had drilled into Caleb's head the importance of remembering hunters, knowing their specialty and how to assess how much to share with them. Winchester encouraged him to hunt with others, but only the men John trusted. This latest hunt with Fisher had been a bone of contention between them.

Griffin's voice interrupted Reaves drifting, anchoring him back to their bleak situation. "The Scholar and Guardian are often sheltered from interacting with other hunters besides a select few. It limits the possibility of favoritism and gives them an air of mystery. Sort of keeps the ranks in awe."

Griffin let his gaze go from Reaves to the two boys sleeping curled against him. "You know Merlin found what he was looking for in three orphaned boys? He took them and raised them as brothers, fostering in each of them one of the traits he hoped to utilize in his sacred circle. Protection. Knowledge. Sacrifice. And every generation afterwards followed suit. Choosing three that would stand together as the next Triad."

"And you think Jim is raising _us_ to be the next Triad?" Caleb didn't like the turn Griffin's tale was taking. Sam and Dean were children. They weren't anyone's pawns. The man was making Jim, his father and John sound underhanded- scheming.

"I'm just pointing out that it would be wise of Jim to make sure his Triad is prepared for the worst…that they are returning to the old traditions. A war is coming."

"So I've heard," Caleb growled. He was tired of the story. "But the only battle I'm concerned about now is the one we're going to have to wage to get out of this situation." Reaves looked down at the boys who slept temporarily oblivious to what was going on around them. "I want them away from here as soon as possible."

"I didn't mean to upset you." Griffin looked repentant; though Caleb got the feeling it wasn't very sincere. "I was only explaining my earlier comment."

"It's alright." Maybe he was reading too much into it. Caleb ran a hand down his face. "I think we need to focus on getting out of here."

"I didn't want to say anything, but sooner is better than later. Dean is very ill."

Caleb placed a hand on Dean's forehead in concern. The boy was warm and his cheeks flushed. He bent his head. "You couldn't have built a tunnel or something?"

"Is that your only brilliant plan?"

Caleb shifted, his right arm tingling with numbness. He didn't want to move it in fear of waking Dean. Instead he sighed. "No. But John and Mac will think of something."

"You have a lot of faith in Knight Winchester and Scholar Ames."

Reaves shot him a look. "They've earned it."

Griffin was spared a reply by the ominous click of the lock on their door. Reaves tensed, but wasn't given time to react as Sid and Mike entered the room like police performing a raid.

Sam and Dean awoke with a jerk in response to the door slamming against the cabin wall and Sid's bark of a laugh. "I told you boys not to get too comfortable. No rest for the weary and all." He looked at his bald-headed baboon of a partner. "Maybe they think this is the freaking Hilton, Mikey?"

Sam rubbed at his eyes, scrunching closer to his brother. "Dean?"

"It's okay, Sammy."

Dean's voice sounded worse. He raised himself to sitting, putting a protective arm around his brother. He looked at Reaves.

Caleb edged to the end of the bed, securing both Winchesters behind him. "This your idea of a courtesy call? Because neither of us rang the front desk." Caleb recognized the tactic. John had told him how the enemy would not allow captives sleep, how those in control would do things to keep their victims off guard and on edge. It was effective.

Sid smiled. "You could say that. Call it a pick-up service."

"I don't have any dirty laundry. Sorry."

Griffin interrupted the verbal volley. "Is there a point to this, or did you just want to give the boys nightmares?"

"The boss wants to talk to the boy." Sid swung his gun towards Reaves and the Winchesters. "That's hard to do if he's sleeping."

Caleb felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. He hoped like hell that 'boy' was Sid's way of talking down to him.

Dean must have thought so because he felt the ten-year-old's fingers tighten in the folds of his shirt. "Caleb?"

Reaves glanced behind him and tried for his most reassuring smile. "I'm not going anywhere." He then returned his gaze to Sid. "Tell your boss we can talk in here."

"It's not_ you _he wants to talk to. You already had your chance to sing, pretty boy. We're going to chat with one of the little parakeets."

Caleb stood up. Both boys followed, flanking the teen. "Like hell you are."

"Do you really think this is some kind of democracy, kid?" Sid asked in his wannabe-mobster tone.

"You're not touching them."

Mikey stepped forward, hands out as if he were trying to calm a cornered animal. "It'd be easier, kid, if you just let the older boy come with us."

Caleb pushed Dean further behind him. "He's not going anywhere."

"Says the boy without a gun." Sid shook his head pointed his weapon at Sam. "Now back off and send blondie over here or I'm going to ventilate the little ankle biter."

Despite the poor imitation of one of Al Capone's flunkies, Reaves was afraid Sid was actually serious. He'd hurt Dean. Caleb doubted if he would hesitate in doing the same to Sam. The man had no boundaries. He moved so Sam was completely shielded from view. "I'll go with him. Take both of us."

"He don't need a chaperone. I'll watch him."

"He doesn't know anything!" Caleb growled. "I told you none of us know anything about any fucking silver or lost journals."

Sid shrugged. "Funny, but we don't believe you."

For once Dean didn't insist on being brave beyond his years. He clung to the back of Caleb's shirt, hiding as much of his body behind the older hunter as possible. It wasn't like him and it pulled at all of Reaves's protective instincts. "Ask him your questions here, then."

"Come with us." Mikey gestured to Dean. "Now."

"NO!" Caleb refused when he heard Dean's breath hitch. Sam started to cry.

"Caleb, I don't believe there is a choice here." Griffin stepped alongside Reaves. "If you resist our friend Sid will enjoy making a very messy point."

The psychic looked at Porter. "Do you know anything? Anything at all. Maybe something you didn't even think was important? "

Griffin frowned. "What?"

"If you do, tell them." Caleb gestured to the men. "Jim will understand. He would give them whatever they wanted. Don't let them take the kid. _Please_."

"Son, I don't have the answers they want."

"Neither does Dean!"

"Then he'll have to tell the boss that himself," Sid said.

Caleb focused on the blond henchman. "I swear to God if you hurt him again I will make your death slow and painful."

"No, Caleb!" Sam said forcefully as Reaves turned around resolutely and bent eye-level in front of the boys. "Don't let them take Dean. You're supposed to watch out for him. Daddy says so." Sam pleaded, bouncing on his toes. "No. No."

"It's okay, Sammy." Dean shushed his brother, rubbing his hand up and down the little boy's back. "They just want to ask me some questions…that's all."

"But they hurt Caleb and Griffin when they asked them questions."

Sam had not mentioned the bruises on Caleb's face or the split lip, but the five-year-old had an uncanny way of blocking out things he didn't want to see. Reaves grasped Sam's arm, stilling him. "They won't hurt, Dean. I promise you."

Caleb met Dean's gaze as he whispered the words to Sam. He and Dean knew Caleb couldn't guarantee such a thing; even Sam was sure to understand on some level, but they all needed to hear them just the same. "Deuce..."Caleb cupped his hand on the side of Dean's face. "It'll be okay. Just answer their questions the best you can. If you know something, tell them. Don't go trying to imitate some cartoon super hero."

Dean stepped closer to Caleb, his shoulder brushing against the teen's. He dropped his head slightly. "Okay."

Even though he was trying hard to sound confident and fearless, the body language gave Dean away. Reaves let his hand slide to the boy's neck and squeezed. "Nothing's going to happen to you. Got it?"

Dean swallowed his voice hoarse and low. He looked up at the psychic. "Because you said so?"

Caleb appreciated the kid's attempt at normalcy, the ever-present hint of cockiness no matter how forced. "Yes. Because I'm older, better looking, and way smarter."

"And taller." Sam piped up, needing the moment of lightheartedness. He clung to his brother's hand. "But don't worry, Jim says you'll catch up in tallness."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I guess that's something."

Sam hugged his brother. "I love you anyway."

"Me too," Dean replied.

Caleb forced himself to release Dean. "Be brave, Deuce."

The kid nodded. "You know I will."

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

Dean didn't feel brave as he was dragged into the kitchen of the cabin. The tall, dark-haired Mathews was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee and a scattering of papers and books in front of him. There was another man sitting with him. Dean recognized the shorter, smaller-framed man from the first night he and Sam were taken. Mathews had called him Louis.

"Here you go, boss. Dean-o was so excited to come chat."

"Jerk off," Dean growled, pulling away from Sid. He gave Mathews a glare. "This vacation sucks."

The ten-year-old watched Mathews glance at Louis with a look of part amusement part exasperation. Adults often found Dean both funny and forward.

"Maybe I shouldn't have asked you and your brother on that first night to consider this situation as such."

"You think?" Dean croaked. "Sammy was at least expecting a pool." He knew Caleb warned him about the attitude, but it seemed to come natural when Dean was scared or mad. At the moment he was both, the former emotion was however gaining ground as he contemplated just how alone he was.

Mathews leaned forward, studying Dean. "Hopefully if things go as planned you and your brother won't be with us much longer. You'll be home in time to enjoy the holiday with your family. In fact, you're going to have the chance to help speed things along."

Dean swallowed thickly. "And if I say no?"

Mathews looked down at his hands and then focused his intense gaze on Dean again. "If you value the lives of your little brother and Caleb Reaves you won't say no."

RcJ


	5. Chapter 5

Paper Tiger

Chapter 5

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

**_Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright _**

**_In the forests of the night, _**

**_What immortal hand or eye _**

**_Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? _**

**_-William Blake_**

"What do you mean Caleb's disappeared?" Pastor Jim Murphy was not in a Godly place at the current moment. No amount of scripture no matter how heart-felt was offering him any kind of solace. The only sermons he could recall, the only ones even remotely striking a chord were a few that rang with fire and brimstone and promised apocalyptic endings. He twisted the silver ring on his finger, watching the men before him. He was close to losing his patience. "The boy can't have just vanished." He turned to Ames. "Did you try to use your abilities?"

"Yes." Mackland shook his head, guilt at his failure easily read in his gray eyes. "It's the same as it was with the boys."

"Dean and Sam vanished." John was quick to point out. Bobby and Mackland shot him a familiar look. One he easily interpreted. Of course he had left his children alone and unprotected in a house in the middle of nowhere. "Caleb was apparently as vulnerable as they were."

"He's not a child." Bobby defended as if his judgment and competence were being called into question. "I know you didn't want him hunting with Fisher, John but…"

"He's _my_ child." Ames reminded Singer. "My son, who you said would be going on a simple hunt if I'm not mistaken. I don't recall liking the idea of him hunting with Fisher either."

"I did send him on a simple hunt! And if you've missed this little fact while buried in your mounds of books, Caleb wears a ring now. He's officially on the big boy roster, and falls into normal rotation whether we like it or not. You knew what he was in for when you signed him up for the team."

"Boys!" Jim snapped. "Enough of this petty bickering. Caleb's misfortune most likely has nothing to do with the current hunt he and Fisher were on as we all are well aware. It is more than likely whoever took Dean and Samuel, has also taken Caleb."

"You're right." Mackland ran a finger over his eyebrow. "I'm sorry." He briefly met Bobby's eyes before returning his attention to The Guardian. "What did Hughes tell you, Jim?"

Murphy sighed. "Not much. Especially not enough for me to have taken time away from the crisis at hand." The medium had been hesitant to meet, mysteriously requesting The Guardian come alone. Jim was tempted to tell the man he was the only one in the position to hand out ultimatums, but kept his calm in light of the fact Duran might actually know something. Hughes was prickly. "He told me _'Et __tu__ Brute'_."

"You're joking, right?" John shook his head, a curtain of crimson red slowly descending over his face. "The bastard called you out to quote more Shakespeare?"

Jim lifted a hand requesting a rare moment of patience from The Knight. "He said another message from Julian had come through during a private séance. Julian kept repeating the line 'Et tu Brute'. "

"And that's it?" Mackland asked.

"Duran did go on a bit about how he found the whole scenario disrupting to his business and how he has high hopes that I will resolve whatever issue I am currently facing so former members of The Brotherhood will leave him be."

"That sounds about right." Bobby snorted.

"So we've gone from Macbeth to Julius Caesar." Mackland reclaimed his seat at the table.

"What exactly does that mean?" Bobby asked.

John clenched his fists. "That someone's going to stab Jim in the back."

Singer rolled his eyes at Winchester. "Contrary to popular belief I have half a brain, John. I know what the damn quote means. I've even read Julius Caesar, thank you very much."

Mackland looked to John. "So you're back to thinking this has more to do with Jim than with The Triad?"

"Hell, Mac, I don't know. But the best damn way to shake The Guardian would to be to rattle The Triad."

"If someone wanted to kill The Guardian, they would most definitely take out the other members of The Triad." Bobby agreed with John. "It's happened before in past generations."

"Take _us_ out, yes." John replied. "But they could have easily done that a hundred different ways without taking the boys."

"It leads me to believe it is not my physical demise that someone wants." Jim ran his fingers through his hair. "John's observation holds true for me also. It is not like I live in a fortress or travel with bodyguards. Any hunter worth his salt could fulfill the task if they so chose."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." John snorted. "I know I was a last minute choice as Knight, but I like to think I'd at least provide some sort of obstacle to any assassination plot."

Jim sighed. "That is not what I meant, Johnathan and you know it."

"Say your suspicions are true, and those behind this don't want you dead, what do they want?" Mackland asked.

Something even more frightful. "Power." Jim stood up from the table going to the coffee maker. "I always feared this might happen."

"What kind of power could they gain, Jim? It's not like The Brotherhood is some kind of elite sovereign body or military giant."

The phone rang, cutting off Murphy's response. The men exchanged looks and Bobby scooted his chair back in case John and Mackland made a grab for the wall phone. Jim forgot the coffee and went to answer it.

"Hello."

_"Pastor Jim?" _

The voice on the other line was strained and scratchy but undeniable. "Dean? Is that you, my boy?"

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Dean jerked the receiver away from Sid, stepping back so he could hold the headset himself. "It's me, Jim."

Dean was surprised when Mathews explained what he wanted him to do. They hadn't asked him any questions or demanded answers he didn't have. Instead Sid explained in graphic detail what would be done to Sam and Caleb if Dean didn't do as he was told. There was no choice.

_"Where in God's name are you, son? Where's your brother? Are you hurt?" _

Jim sounded worried, almost frantic, and it sent a shiver through Dean's already chilled frame. "Sammy and I are with some friends of yours. They want me to give you a message."

_"Dean?" _

Dean almost sobbed when his father's voice echoed across the line. He shut his eyes, took a painful breath. John must have picked up the extension in the farm's family room. "I'm okay." The ten-year-old said quickly, not alerting anyone on his side that his father was also on the line.

_"Do you know where you are, Ace?" _

Dean glanced at Sid who was staring at him with a sadistic smirk. "Sam's alright, too. He got a little carsick on the way down here. You know how he is after a couple of hours of riding."

"_They're listening?" _

Dean's father understood what he was doing. "He was upset he missed Gilligan's Island. You know how the kid loves the Professor, Skipper, Gilligan and the crew."

_"__They're __seven of them?__"_

"Yes," Dean answered his father. That's all Dean had witnessed. Some of the men from his and Sam's first night at the cabin had not been back that the ten-year-old knew of, but it didn't mean they weren't waiting in the wings.

_"Is Caleb with you, Dean?" _

"Yeah. I'm not so worried about the bears since Damien's here. And Doctor Porter helped my throat. But it's still too cold for camping."

Mathews stood, approaching the boy. "Stick to the script, Dean," he hissed.

_"What do they want, Dean?"_

Sid made a slashing gesture across his neck and pointed towards the hallway. "They want the silver for the hunter's rings, Pastor Jim. And the lost journals. They said you would know what they mean."

_"The silver?"_

_"Lost __j__ournals?" _

Pastor Jim and John spoke at the same time and Dean was certain he heard Mackland's voice in the background. "If you don't come up with what they want in the next thirty-six hours, they're going to kill us. Probably bury all four of us under a tar hill."

The phone was snatched roughly from Dean by Mathews, who shoved it at Sid.

"Thirty-six hours, Murphy." Sid growled into the receiver. "We'll be in touch." He cut the connection and returned the handset to Mathews. "Do you think they got the point?"

Mathews placed the phone on its carriage with a frustrated sigh. He knelt in front of Dean. "I think our young friend is too smart for his own good." He took hold of Dean's chin. "You're quite clever aren't you, son? Did you give away any of our secrets?"

"I was talking to them like you said. And I'm not your son." Dean pulled away. "Jerk face."

"No." Mathews, rocked back on his heels, his blue eyes still locked on Dean's face. "But I have two boys of my own."

"Unlucky them."

"Maybe so. They don't improvise or get creative. When I tell them to do something, they do it."

Dean swallowed. The jagged glass feeling was slowly returning to his throat and he wanted nothing more than to lie down. Somewhere close to his brother. "Or what? You tie them up and hit them?"

Mathews shook his head, cut his eyes to Sid, before returning his icy gaze to the ten-year-old. "I give them a chance to mull over what they've done."

"Time out?" Dean rolled his eyes, making his head hurt worse. "I bet they're a real couple of girls."

Sid snorted. "How about I handle him the way my old man did me? This place probably has a woodshed out back. I turned out real fine."

Dean took a step back from the blond goon. "Caleb will kick your ass if you do anything to me," he said without much conviction. Caleb was locked up in another room and might as well have been a million miles away. It was almost as ridiculous as saying his father would ride in for the rescue. Dean still couldn't help looking towards the hallway, hoping for a miracle.

Sid's steel-like grip wrapped around his arm eliciting a gasp from the boy. The man gave him a good shake. "I'd like to see that trick, Kid."

Mathews peeled Sid's fingers off Dean. "We do this my way, Sid."

"Killjoy." Sid stomped away, bumping shoulders with his buddy Mike. "I bet his boys are a couple of pussies."

The last comment was said under Sid's breath, but Dean heard it and by the way Mathew's jaw clenched, Dean was sure the dark-haired man had also heard. "You're lucky I tolerate children and fools very well, Dean."

Mathews stood up and took Dean by the shoulder. "Come with me."

As Dean was led in the opposite direction of the room where his brother and Caleb were, he felt anything but lucky.

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"Damn it!" Jim slammed the phone down and stormed out of the kitchen. Mackland and Bobby followed.

John was standing by the couch in the living room, still holding the handset of the line he had been listening in on. "What the hell, Jim?"

"Come with me."

Murphy didn't speak and no one offered an objection as they followed The Guardian into the library and waited for him to unlock the secret passage door. Once inside the hidden room Caleb had affectionately tagged as The Hunters' Tomb, Jim headed for the wall of maps where he removed several, taking them to the large round table in the center.

"John?" Mackland questioned, his gaze searching his friend's face. "Was Caleb there? Did Dean say if they were alright?"

"He's there, Mac. They're all there."

"Including Griffin." Jim interjected, raking his fingers through his silver hair, causing it to stand up in a way that would have had Sam in a giggling fit. "Dean said Dr. Porter had helped his throat."

"Griffin?" Bobby frowned. "They took Griffin, too?"

"We'll have to contact Harland Sawyer to be sure. He's usually back-up for Griffin, but I'm afraid so."

"Why Griffin Porter?" Mackland asked as he watched Murphy unfold the maps and align them side by side.

"I suppose because he is someone important to me," Jim snapped, uncharacteristically. "They want as much leverage against me as possible. They took what was easily taken."

Winchester looked at Ames. "They want the silver used to make our rings."

"What?" Mackland's brow creased and he turned to Murphy again, who was silently studying the maps. "That's ridiculous."

"Apparently not." Bobby pointed out. "Seeing as how these sonsofbitches kidnapped four people to get it."

"There's at least seven of them," John said.

"How do you know that?"

"Dean said Sammy missed Gilligan's Island," Winchester explained. It's a technique we worked on. "

"There's seven castaways." Mackland was beginning to understand. It was clever of Dean, although disturbing that a ten-year-old would need such references.

"Damn, that kid's sharp," Bobby echoed Ames's thoughts.

"That's not all the boy told us." Jim pointed to the map. "He said they drove 'down' for a couple of hours."

John nodded and pointed to the map. " South from Virginia. He also made a point of saying that Sam got carsick. Sammy hates curvy roads."

Mackland arched a brow. "Mountains?"

"Yeah." John agreed. " Dean said it was cold there. And that he was afraid of the bears."

"He also mentioned camping?" Jim offered.

"Like in a tent?" Bobby asked.

"No. I'm guessing a cabin. We've camped at Jim's old place plenty of times."John looked at Jim, then placed a finger over the state of North Carolina. "You missed the biggest clue, Jim. Dean said they'd bury them under a tar hill."

"I'll be damned." Bobby whistled. "And we thought Sammy was the genius in the family."

Mackland shook his head as Jim turned and started for the wall of maps again. "The Tar Hill State." He gave John a weary smile. "With all the moving around you do, the boy should be good at Geography."

John returned the weak grin. At least they knew their children were alive. "It just kills you that some things don't have to be learned in a damn book, doesn't it, Einstein."

"No. I'm quite aware that books are lacking." Mackland watched Jim return to the table and spread the topographical map of North Carolina on the table. "I've read everything about The Brotherhood and not once have I seen mention of any silver."

"Maybe that information is s in the missing journals they also want."

John's observation had Jim looking up from his study of the landscape. "Those are a legend."

Bobby grunted. "So are fucking big foots and bridge trolls."

Jim sighed. "Bobby, you're not helping."

"I'm just saying I've heard the tales about the missing Century Journals. Who's to say they're not as real as those." Singer gestured to the walls of bookshelves containing the histories of hundreds of hunters long past.

"Century Journals?" Mackland frowned. He turned to look at the shelves Bobby was pointing at. "Are you referring to the fact that there are no recorded words from hunters during the span of time between the 1890's up until around 1910?"

John shook his head. "Leave it to you, Mac to have catalogued the damn things."

"They're our heritage." Mackland defended. "A genealogy as important as our own family trees and extremely interesting reading."

"Said the man who's never broke the cover of Play Boy."

"Again, Bobby, you're not helping." Jim exhaled heavily. "And yes, Mackland, that's exactly what he is talking about. No journal from any hunter during that era has ever been recovered or documented. Hunters have created lore to explain something quite simple I'm sure."

"Or not," Bobby grumbled.

Mackland rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I asked you about it once."

Jim shrugged elusively. "As I said, it is legend."

"What's so special about these journals?" John asked.

"They would have been kept by hunters living in a time when important things within The Brotherhood were taking place."

"What kinds of things?" Mackland inquired.

"Shifts in power. New alliances. And an age old battle."

"But those things happen daily." Mackland was quick to point out. "It makes no sense that countless journals cryptically disappeared."

Jim sighed, as if he hoped not to have to recant the tale. "Over the years we have come into possession of many objects of power. Mysterious items capable of doing great, terrible, disastrous things if they were to fall into the wrong hands . These objects have been sought not only by other hunters and those wanting to bend the forces of nature to their will, but also by those wishing to collect profit."

Mackland looked at The Guardian. "But most of those objects are destroyed, aren't they?"

"That's our policy _now._ Yes."

"But back then, that wasn't the case?" John asked.

"There are those who think past hunters stockpiled the things they found, keeping them in one central location for safe keeping-incase they were needed for other hunts. Some members of The Brotherhood believe they were never actually destroyed, but rather hidden away by the Triad of that time and that the location is revealed in one or more of those missing journals."

"A Fort Knox of supernatural fortune?" Bobby groaned. "That doesn't sound good."

"It's just a thought."

"You don't know where it might be?"

"No. No one does."

"Except long dead hunters who might have written it down in their journals."

"Journals that no longer exist."

"Or have been hidden away as well." Jim sighed. "When a hunter passes, if possible his journal is returned to The Guardian of that generation to be used as a resource and historical text.. Unfortunately, not all find their way back. Some are lost or destroyed, discounted as mad-ramblings of a demented man."

Mackland pursed his lips. "But these men are asking for the lost journals and the silver or they are going to hurt the boys."

"I'm aware of that, Mackland."

"Where does the silver come from?" John asked.

Jim went back to looking at the map of North Carolina. "That's not something I can't share with you."

Winchester growled. "Can't or won't?"

"You'll have to trust me when I say that I can no more give them the silver for the rings than I can give them the salt in the sea. It's not possible."

"What if the boys' lives depend on it?"

"We won't allow it to come to that."

"But if it did."

Jim looked up and met John's dark stormy gaze. "I would die for them."

"At least we know they're in North Carolina." Mackland looked from Knight to Guardian. It was The Scholar's job to sometimes play peacemaker. " In the mountains. At a cabin."

"That's still a needle in a haystack," Bobby said.

"Maybe not." Jim scratched his head. "John mentioned my hunting cabin. Griffin has his own cabin and it just so happens to be located there."

"That's right." Bobby confirmed. "I've been there before with Harland and Jarret Mathews.It can't be a random coincidence."

"Why Griffin's?" John asked.

"If they know so much about us, it would not be surprising if they knew of the cabins and other safe lodges spread through out the country. And if they grabbed Griffin it wouldn't be such a reach that they would take them there."

The Knight clenched his jaw. "Hiding in plain sight?"

"Perhaps."

"None of this makes a whole hell of a lot of sense to me."

Jim shot Bobby yet another look of irritation. "It's the most we have to go on."

"So what do we do?" Mackland inquired. "

"We prepare for battle," Jim replied.

John nodded. "I'm going to call Harland. He'lll know about Griffin and he has probably spent the most time in that location."

"Will it take him long to get here?"

"Let's hope not. I have a feeling time is not on our side."

_RcJ__SnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsN__RcJ_

Caleb couldn't help but watch the clock. The minute hand creeping by in excruciatingly snail-like drags was slowly driving him crazy. All he could think about was Dean and his immense failure at keeping him out of the enemy's hands. The uncharacteristic frightened look on the kids face was haunting him.

Griffin was lying on the other bed, eyes closed, but his breath wasn't that of a sleeper. Neither was Sam's. Caleb thought when the kid's crying had ceased Sam had finally given up the ghost, but true to form the little boy shifted in his arms and raised his head to look up at him. The faint glow of the lamp illuminated the wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.

"Tell me a story," he whispered.

"You want me to read you a book?"

"No." Sam hiccupped. "Just a story."

"What kind of story?" Caleb shifted on the bed, allowing Sam to curl up in the crook of his arm. It wasn't like Reaves was as good at the fairytale stuff as Jim. In fact, he was bad at it. His talent and imagination were limited to art in the form of paint and graphite, not literature. Except for some really shitty poetry he wrote in high school, Caleb refrained from embarrassing himself.

"A real one." Sam's hand curled around a fold of material in the teen's flannel over-shirt and he sighed. "The one about Dean's blue shirt."

"That's a classic." Caleb smiled at the request.

To compensate for his ability in the area of 'spinning a yarn' as Griffin had dubbed it, Caleb had ingeniously devised a method of entertainment which Sam found hilarious. He told true stories about things that happened in their lives on the farm. Some of it was exaggerated and a few really good ones were out and out lies. But the 'blue shirt' story was true and it was a Sam favorite. Hell, Caleb loved it too, mostly because it drove Dean crazy.

"It's classic Dean." Sam nodded against his chest. "I like the end the best."

"Okay." Maybe they both needed to feel a little closer to Dean. Caleb cleared his throat, preparing his best theatrical voice. "It was the first time I knew that I was Dean Winchester's hero."

Sam giggled softly. "This is where Dean groans and says you're a stupid A-hole."

"Yes. But that's just his way of cheering me on."

"I wish he was here to call you an A-hole, Caleb."

"Me too, Sammy." Caleb rested his chin on the little boy's hair for a moment and then pushed on. "It all began one picturesque summer day on Jim Murphy's Kentucky farm about four long years ago. Unlike every other privileged fourteen-year-old, I had not been sent off to Europe to broaden my horizons or even to Hilton Head to work on my tan and my golf swing. No. I'd been forced to spend my school holiday mucking horse stalls and taking care of all sorts of weird-looking, bad-smelling things."

"Like cows and chickens and pigs?" Sam asked coyly, already knowing the answer.

"No. Much worse." Caleb put a perfected pinch of disgust in his voice. "A goofy-looking six-year-old and his drooling, cooing, baby brother."

Sam giggled. "Better known as Dean and Samuel Winchester," he supplied the memorized line before Caleb could.

"You guessed it," Reaves replied. " The Winchesters were trouble with a capital T. They were like gum on my shoe, I couldn't shake them."

"And to torture you even more Pastor Jim made you take them to the park out in public where people could see you…even girls."

"He did," Caleb said, grimly. "He said it didn't matter if they were weird-looking and smelled like soured milk and old Spaghettios. It was my job."

"Every Tuesday… no matter what," Sam said around a huge yawn.

"Yeah. And the freaking brats loved it."

"Yeah, we loved it." The five-year-old bobbed his head. "Except one Tuesday Dean didn't want to go."

Caleb snorted. "Not only did he not want to go, but he refused to come out of his bedroom. Even after the mighty John Winchester gave him a direct order to do so."

"And Daddy got mad!"

"Mad was not the word for it, Sammy. Your dad huffed and puffed and threatened to blow the door down."

"Like the big bad wolf." Sam said it with a hint of his usual excitement, the word wolf coming out 'woof'.

"Exactly. He was ready to pound something. _Something_ being Dean Winchester's backside."

"But Pastor Jim told him to use his words not his hands and he made him ask Dean what was wrong."

"Yeah and that's when the weird thing happened. Dean started crying like a baby."

Sam lifted his head from Caleb's chest, his large dark eyes meeting the psychic's. "This is the part where Dean punches you really hard and calls you another bad name that I can't say."

Caleb swallowed thickly. "Lucky for me, he's not around, huh?"

Sam nodded grimly. "Yeah." He rested against the eighteen-year-old again but his thumb went straight to his mouth, a bad habit he had quit years ago.

"Anyway…" Caleb ran his hand through the boy's wavy hair. "Dean starts crying and the tears are rolling and snot's flying and the drooling, cooing baby starts screaming at the top of his lungs and he's leaking salt water too..."

"And nobody knows what to do because Dean NEVER cries." Sam removed his thumb from his mouth long enough to interject.

"Right," Caleb continued. "That's when Dean starts saying something about his shirt not being right. Between the sobs and the hiccups he keeps saying he can't go out until his shirt is right."

Sam yawned again. "It was a blue shirt."

"Blue as the sky," Caleb confirmed. "But Dean wanted to wear a red shirt and John couldn't find his red shirt. In fact, Dean Winchester didn't own a red shirt."

Sam rose up again. "Dean doesn't even like the color red." He frowned. "His favorite color is black."

"I know." Caleb nodded. "Which Jim pointed out to him, only to have Dean cry harder."

Sam's mouth twitched, a dimple playing hide-n-seek at the corner of his up-turned mouth. "Dean usually tries to punch you again now."

"But fails miserably because he has the reflexes of a girl."

"That's why you call him Deana and tell him to untwist his panties and let you tell the rest of the fucking story."

Caleb glanced up when Griffin covered a startled laugh with a cough. So they had an audience.

"Watch the language, Sammy," Reaves warned half-heartedly.

"You say it." Sam grumbled but settled back against the hunter for the rest of the story.

"Like I was saying, Jim told Dean he didn't even like the color red to which Dean said, _'__But__ Caleb's wearing red'_."

"And everyone turned and looked at you and you said…" Sam started the next line.

"It's a crime to wear red?" Caleb finished in his best smart-assed impersonation of himself at age fourteen.

"Then Dean said…"

"I want to wear red too."

Sam continued. "You remembered that on all the days of going to the park Dean always wore the same color shirt as you."

"It's true," Caleb replied. "Imitation is the greatest form of flattery."

"Dean wanted to be just like you."

Reaves jostled the little boy. "Hey? Could you really blame him?"

Sam laughed. "So then what did you do?"

"I couldn't let the kid keep blubbering." Caleb sighed, running his hand back over Sam's hair. "I did the only thing a real hero would do. I went and put on a blue shirt too."

"You saved the day." Sam exhaled heavily. "The end."

"The end," Caleb parroted.

There was silence for a moment and Reaves hoped Sam had drifted off, but then the kid was wiggling against him again and once more the big trusting eyes were peering up at him. "You both have matching shirts on today."

Caleb's brow wrinkled. "We do?" He hadn't really noticed, but Sam didn't miss much, even in the midst of a kidnapping.

"They both have tigers on them."

Reaves looked down at the Auburn shirt he was wearing beneath his flannel. It had come with his early acceptance into the college. He'd be going to Alabama in the Fall. He recalled then that Dean was wearing a shirt from last-year's baseball team. Their mascot had been the Tigers also. "Yeah. I guess they do."

Sam sniffed, burying closer to Reaves and Caleb let his head fall back against the headboard feeling utterly defeated. "Don't cry Sammy. Please," he whispered.

Then Griffin's voice penetrated the quiet. "Hey, Sam? Do you know what you get when you cross a tiger and a snowman?"

Sam lifted his head and rubbed at his eyes. "What?"

Caleb shook his head. Sam could not resist a joke. What five-year-old boy could?

"Frost bite," Griffin replied.

Caleb groaned, but Sam giggled.

"What do tigers sing at Christmas?" Griffin asked the boy.

"I don't know," Sam replied. "What do they sing?"

"Jungle Bells."

Sam laughed again and it sounded so good that Caleb resisted groaning at the lame joke.

Griffin had rolled over on his bed now, facing them in the darkness. "What do you call a tiger digging in the sand?"

This time Sam answered. "Sandy Claws."

It was Porter's turn to laugh. "That's right."

"Okay, that one was just bad, Sammy." Caleb said. "How did you know?"

"I heard it in school."

"The things they teach our youth these days," Griffin lamented.

"I like tigers," Sam announced. "I've seen them at the zoo."

"They are quite stunning." Griffin agreed. "Powerful, cunning, agile. Many great leaders have revered them. Like King Solomon who had their likeness carved into his throne because even though they were unstoppable hunters they only killed when absolutely necessary."

"Did you know all the stripes on their faces are different?" Sam held up a hand. "Like people's finger prints."

"I didn't know that."

"Sam knows lots of things like that." Caleb said affectionately, ruffling the boy's hair. "Because he's a geek."

Sam smacked his hand away. "I'm not a geek.."

"Really?" Caleb challenged. "What's the biggest mammal?"

"That depends." Sam's brow furrowed. "On land or in the water?"

"See." Reaves bopped him on the forehead. "Totally a nerd reply."

"It's not nerdy. I'm just smart."

Griffin grinned. "It's important to be smart, young Sam. Especially if you want to grow up and be a hunter like your Daddy."

"I want to be dinosaur scientist or a cherry-picker driver."

"I see."

Sam shrugged. "But Dean wants to be a hunter like Daddy. He wants a ring like Caleb got last month when we nearly got eaten by a Black Dog because stupid Josh's toy was broken."

"Black Dogs are bad news."

"Yeah." Sam nodded emphatically. "They're not your mammy's pet poodle."

Griffin laughed. "No. They're not."

Sam looked up at Caleb. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

"Yeah." Reaves nodded and the little boy slid off the bed, dinosaur in tow.

"Your mammy's pet poodle?" Griffin inquired with a raised brow.

Caleb sighed. "Mackland says Bobby Singer's influence is insidious."

"As is yours, apparently."

"Sometimes I forget he's like a parrot."

"He's very intelligent…and quite verbal."

"He likes to talk."

"Dean's quieter."

"Sometimes." Caleb looked towards the door and then back to the clock. It was nerely midnight. "But sometimes he says more than he should."

"He has a habit of letting his mouth run ahead of his brain?"

"Something like that."

"Bobby's fault?"

"No." Caleb rubbed at his tired eyes. "That's probably all me."

"Yes. I noticed you had a flair for verbal jousting-sort of like a kid who doesn't know poking a tiger with a stick is a bad idea."

"Mac says it's a defense mechanism."

"In my day we called it being a smart ass."

"He's my Dad, what can I say."

"Yes, parents want to protect their children, even from themselves."

"But you can't always protect the people you love."

"Hopefully, they won't be stupid enough to harm the boy."

Reaves favored Porter with a look of doubt. Hadn't they already proved that an invalid statement?

"Of course if you do know anything, it might be wise to share it."

Reaves snorted. "Don't you think I would have already told them? Nothing would be worth watching…" He took a breath, crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't know anything about the silver and the only journals I've seen are kept at Jim's in a vault."

"I've seen those too. There's nothing unique about them." Griffin sat up, rested his elbows on his knees. "Are you sure you've never seen anything else at the farm or witnessed James do something special? What about when you got your ring? Sam mentioned that was last month?"

Caleb furrowed his brow. "John gave me my ring. And the only thing secret about the farm is Jim's cellar in the barn where he stashes his homebrew and some wine my grandfather sends him from Europe on occasion."

Griffin continued to stare at him as if he wasn't quite sure he was telling him the truth. "They may kill Dean."

"What?" Caleb swung his legs off the bed, fear speeding his heart to a thundering rate. "Why would you say that?"

"I heard them talking last night. They're serious about this. If they don't get what they want…"

"We don't have what they want!"

Griffin's face grew more solemn. "I'm sorry."

Caleb wanted to say more, to demand Griffin to take it back as childish and useless as that might be. But Sam opened the bathroom door and stepped out. The boy moved back to the bed and climbed up beside Reaves.

"How long 'til Dean comes back?"

Reaves looked at Griffin and the man laid back on the bed without another word. Caleb licked his lips and forced a shaky grin. "Soon, Sammy. Quicker if you go to sleep."

"But I'm not tired."

"Right." Caleb sighed. "Then how about another story? You could tell me one this time." Anything to keep his mind off the what- if's.

"I could tell you my list for Santa Claus."

Reaves nodded. "Is it a long one?"

"Of course." Sam said scooting back on the bed. "I've been really good this year."

"Then let's hear it, Runt. I could use a good laugh."

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_a/n: Thanks to all who review. Trust me, they have a way of making a writer's day-heck sometimes their week. I don't always take the time to reply, instead spending every spare moment writing. This is a busy time of the year for me, so please forgive me for not keeping up with writing everyone back individually. I love hearing the comments and use them quite often and only hope that updated chapters are enough of a thankyou and a penance. ;-) _

_Heroes Chapter 8 should be up tomorrow. _


	6. Chapter 6

Paper Tiger

Chapter 6

Beta: Tidia

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"_**Where there are two people, there is untruth."-Soren Kierkegaard**_

The sound of the key unlocking the door brought Caleb instantly alert. He wasn't asleep, his mind too full of tortuous thoughts to be lulled into a restful state. Reaves eased himself up, mindful of Sam who had finally given into exhaustion.

The sleeping five-year-old stirred slightly but didn't wake as the psychic maneuvered his legs over the side of the bed. Caleb blinked as the overhead light was turned on, flooding the room with harsh luminescent. "Porter, come with us." Sid entered the room.

"Where's Dean?" Caleb demanded as he watched Griffin ease his tall, lanky frame from the other twin bed.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Sid taunted.

Reaves made to stand up, but Porter held a hand out. "Don't do anything stupid, son."

"Listen to the good doctor, boy." Sid stepped further into the room, Mikey practically glued to his side. "It'd be a shame to wake the brat with the sound of gunfire."

Caleb clenched his teeth. "You've been talking to him for hours. Just bring him back in here with us."

"Sorry. No can do." Sid waved the gun at Porter. "Mathews wants to ask the doc some more questions and we might need some incentive."

Porter and Reaves exchanged glances. "I'll answer your questions the same, with or without the boy."

Sid snorted. "Bad news for the kid…but still fun to watch."

Griffin shot Caleb an apologetic helpless look before allowing Mikey to guide him out of the room. Sid winked at Reaves. "I'll tell you how it goes, kid. Give you all the blow by blow details."

"You're not going to find this so damn amusing when our friends get here."

"Keep telling yourself that." Sid continued to grin as he backed out of the door and closed it behind him.

Reaves swore as he heard the lock. "Sonofabitch."

He glanced to Sam, amazed the kid was still sleeping, but thankful for the break. Caleb's emotions were hard enough to handle, let alone mixing in the fears of a tired and confused five-year-old. Sam wanted his brother, and that was something Caleb couldn't give him, despite wanting nothing more than the same thing for himself. Without effort his thoughts focused on Dean, and the first jolt of connection was so surprising Reaves flinched, bringing a hand to his forehead.

It was like a switch had been thrown. He blinked, afraid he might have imagined the familiar sensation, but the link held true.

He purposefully reached out this time, carefully brushing against Dean's consciousness. "Deuce?" Caleb whispered thankful for the knowledge Dean was still with them, but pained by the great sense of misery surrounding the kid.

The psychic breathed deeply, testing the limits of his abilities. The drugs were still dulling his range and clouding his focusing capability, but it was no where near as stifling as it had been before. Caleb could now sense Sam and Dean without effort, but reaching out to touch the others was more difficult.

They seemed to be gathered in one area of the cabin, but it was as if they were in some sort of anti-psychic bubble. Dean was clearly not with them. He was further away. The only explanation Caleb had was that he had a strong connection to the boys. His abilities were attuned to them, so perhaps the drug wouldn't work as easily. Still something nagged at the back of his mind.

"Caleb?"

Sam's sleepy voice halted his theorizing and Reaves moved back to the bed. "Hey, you should be asleep."

"I woke up and you were gone." Sam rubbed tiredly at his eyes and yawned. "I thought they took you too."

"No." Caleb reclaimed his spot on the small bunk and Sam curled close to him once more. "I'm still here, Runt."

"When will Dean be back?"

Reaves closed his eyes. "I wish I knew, Sammy. I wish I knew."

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"You knew this could happen, Jarrett."

"No. You convinced me this would _not_ happen." Mathews was frustrated at his own gullibility. "You said you were sure that Ames's kid would have the information we needed."

Griffin took the cup of coffee his friend offered him and frowned. "Where's the boy?"

"I put him in the cellar to stew for a while." Jarrett looked at Porter, trying to read the man's infuriatingly calm expression. Griffin had a way of looking like he knew something everybody else wasn't privy to. Usually he did, his mind full of secrets like Pandora's Box. "He didn't exactly adhere to the plan. He may have given away clues to our location."

Porter took a sip from the mug. "That's nothing that we didn't expect."

Mathews swore. "I didn't expect it."

Griffin continued to drink his coffee. "I told you this might come to a face to face confrontation."

"We're remembering things very differently." Perhaps they would carve that sentiment on Jarrett's tombstone. His father often said he was born with rose-colored glasses. "You said we would get the location of the silver and then force Jim to step down as The Guardian. You never once mentioned a battle." Mathews rubbed his neck. "Which is exactly what it will be if the Triad finds us here." Maybe slaughter was a better word.

"There is never a full proof plan."

"Griffin, you act as if you hope they do show up here."

"Jarrett, I know you wanted this all to go off without a hitch, and it still may, but..."

"Has Reaves told you anything?"

When Griffin hesitated, Mathews let out a deep sigh. "He doesn't know a damn thing, does he?"

"I'm not completely convinced of that."

"I saw his face, Griffin. He was terrified for the Winchester boy. He would have told me whatever I wanted to know when Sid threatened the child." Mathews turned his eyes to Sid, who was sitting at the kitchen table playing cards with Mikey. "Which by the way was not supposed to ever go so far." The thug was instructed not to hurt either boy. Sacrificial lambs were supposed to be docile. Sid was more like a pet snake.

Sid looked up from his hand and shrugged. "I barely touched him."

Porter pointed at the man. "I explained to you that the children were not to be harmed. If you expect full payment, I suggest you fully comply with my wishes."

"You wanted Reaves to talk; I was just trying to fulfill the contract." Sid pulled his knife from the wood table, flicked it back and forth. "I could still work on that for you, if not with the wee ones, then with Reaves."

"No." Jarrett shook his head when Griffin seemed to consider the idea. "We know that's not an option."

Mathews pulled Porter out of the small dining area and into the living room, giving them more privacy. "Despite where he comes from, Ames's boy is loyal." Mathews reached a hand out and wrapped his finger around Griffin's wrist when the other man dismissed his words with a patronizing roll of his eyes. "And he is still a boy-the same age as Ethan and Elijah. I'm not going to be a part in his death, Griffin. We're here to see that Jim Murphy steps down. Nothing more." Mathews couldn't help but think about his own sons when he looked at Caleb Reaves.

"No one is dying here, Jarrett. Stop being so damn dramatic. Now is not the time to lose focus."

"Those boys don't know anything, Griffin. However, their fathers may very well know something…like our location. Then the whole point of our mission is becoming a complete failure. This is a prime moment for concern." Did Griffin not realize the bleakness of their situation?

"This is going to work out, Jarrett, one way or the other."

"What exactly is it that you want to work out, Griffin? You never have told me why it was important we play this absurd game of cat and mouse. Why ask about the Century Journals or the legendary repository of weapons? The silver I can understand, because if Murphy refuses to step down, taking control of the source would be our only likely way to force him to do so…" Jarrett paled slightly. Something akin to one of those cartoon anvils fell from the sky, striking him atop the head. "Outside of killing him, which would not only be murder, but high treason. I signed on for an impeachment, not an assassination."

Porter snorted. "Never again ask me where Elijah gets his talent for self-righteous platitudes, Jarrett. He is his father's son."

"Leave my boys out of this."

"We're doing this for your boys," Griffin hissed. "Once I'm the new Guardian and you The Scholar, their rightful places as the next Triad will be sealed, ensuring the prosperous future of The Brotherhood-a traditional, pure Brotherhood."

"I want to believe the welfare of The Brotherhood is your only concern, Griffin." But it was becoming harder for Jarrett to see the man as a patriot. Griffin had been like a father to Jarrett, mentoring him when his own father was killed in a hunt. He was good to Mathews's sons, helping groom Ethan for position of Knight, guiding Elijah's psychic abilities. But this…

"It is." Porter put a hand on Jarrett's shoulder and squeezed. "Stop thinking so much."

Mathews pulled away. "Then what is this talk of the Century Journals? Why did you insist that I ask about them? We are not mercenaries. If those objects are as powerful as we think then they are better left lost."

Griffin glanced over his shoulder. He cleared his throat and spoke up. "But if the legends are true then the stockpile of weapons and antiquities could be worth a fortune."

Jarrett frowned, glanced towards the kitchen. Sid and Mike were absorbed in their game, apparently unconcerned with his and Griffin's conversation. But their kind was usually attuned to their surroundings. Porter needed to take caution. Mathews lowered his own voice. "Monetary gain is the lowest of lows and a direct violation of The Brotherhood code, Griffin."

"I'm not suggesting we sell them to the highest bidder of which I'm sure there would be many, but whomever holds them could hold enough power to sway things to their perspective."

"You're serious?" Mathews hissed, taking Griffin's arm and pulling him further into the living room.

"Don't worry yourself, Jarrett." Griffin extracted himself from his friend's grip. "They are probably a myth. We are arguing a moot point. I mostly wanted them mentioned to throw James off."

"I'm not sure it worked. Like everything else, that call did not go as planned."

"What happened exactly?"

"I told you the boy is what happened." Jarrett knew Dean had not said anything specific, but the kid had improvised. Mathews was sure of it. "He's smart. I know he slipped information to Murphy."

Griffin's typical smug look returned, twisting that knot of suspicion further in Jarrett's gut. Mathews always likened it to the look a chess player had after securing their enemy's queen. "This may speed things along."

Jarrett ran a hand through his hair. Damn his idealism. "I gave them the thirty-six hour deadline, but I doubt it will take them that long to find us."

"It will still take them time to mobilize. Have Louis and one of the other men set up a perimeter watch further down the mountain on both the traversed trails and the rugged terrain. Winchester was in Special Forces. He's quite brilliant when it comes to tactical maneuvers."

Mathews thought of Louis and the other hunters he had encouraged to support Porter's plan to right the wrongs of The Brotherhood. Were they to be expendable like the paid outsiders Sid and Mike? "I know how talented Winchester is. Ethan was quite enamored with the man after training with him. I've heard many stories about the great Knight despite his lack of judgment." Ethan had been thrilled at the chance to work with John Winchester and brushed off the fact he was forced to be second-string when John chose another as successor. Mathews had not been so forgiving. Porter's detailed discussion of Caleb Reaves's unworthiness had not helped.

Griffin gave his friend a reassuring smile and Jarrett was sure the man was reading him, leaching his thoughts. It was Porter's way-a flaw Jarrett had brushed aside in his own awe of the man. "They'll understand why we're doing this when they're older."

"I hope you're right." Mathews glanced over to the small alcove off to their left. It led to the cellar door. "Should I get the boy? He sounded sick." The father in Jarrett had screamed that Dean should be tucked in bed with a bowl of hot soup and some strong antibiotics. But Dean was not his son and they were in the middle of a battle where paternal feelings must be pushed aside.

Griffin shook his head. "No, I think we should rattle Caleb's cage just a tad more."

Jarrett glared at him. "I thought we were clear on the fact he doesn't know anything."

"Desperation can jar a person's memory. Perhaps he knows something he doesn't know he knows." Porter didn't give his friend time to reply as he turned his back on him and started for the kitchen. "Sid, I want you to get the other boy."

"Griffin," Mathews tried. "This is nonsense. We should be focusing on dealing with The Triad. If your little ruse was going to work, Reaves would have talked already."

"I told you what to do, Jarrett. Get Louis on it. Contact our man on the inside. This is not as big an issue as you are making it out to be."

Jarrett growled in frustration. Griffin turned from him once more and motioned to Mike. "Give us a few minutes and then bring him in here."

"Reaves won't take that well."

"That's what I'm counting on. Take the boy by force if you must. But don't hurt him."

"What about Reaves?"

"Do what you have to without killing him."

"You're enjoying this." Jarrett's eyes narrowed and he felt slightly ill. Griffin had always been a little ruthless. He suspected it was one of the things Julian Smith sensed about him, finding Jim Murphy's altruistic nature preferable. It also probably explained why Griffin's friend James had not chosen him as The Scholar when given the chance. "Are you trying to punish Caleb for Ethan's slight or his father for your own?"

Griffin didn't try to deny his friend's accusation. "Actually, it's making me feel rather better about both."

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Sam jerked in Caleb's arms as the door to their room was once again opened. Sid and Mike entered. Reaves's chest tightened as his hopes were dashed. Dean wasn't with them.

Sid gestured with his gun. "We're taking the other boy with us."

Caleb slowly rose from the bed, keeping Sam behind him. "The hell you are."

"Caleb?" Sam wrapped his fingers in the back of Reaves's shirt.

Sid snickered. "Come out, come out. Don't you want to go see your big brother, brat?"

"He's not going anywhere." Caleb had been separated from Dean. He could not lose Sam too. He'd promised.

The gun was shoved in his face again. Caleb was growing very weary of being the helpless captive. "I hope you make this hard. The boss gave me permission to teach you a lesson. Or maybe I'll just take it out on Dean-O while you watch."

"Don't you hurt my brother!" Sam snarled, darting out from behind Caleb to deliver a hard kick to Sid's shin.

"Sam. No!"

"Sonofa…" Sid yelped in pain as the little boy followed up with a fist to the crotch. The blond thug brought his gun back intent on striking Sam with it.

Caleb reacted without conscious thought and Sid stopped mid-strike, staggered slightly before grasping his head in pain.

Reaves grabbed Sam, pulling him back into his meager shelter as the big man toppled to his knees, his face twisted in agony. Caleb was fueled by the surge of adrenaline and anger, making his psychic attack even more powerful and particularly vicious.

"Sid?" Mike stepped forward, his slow wit making a valiant effort to keep up with the action. He lowered his gun. "What…"

Reaves didn't take time to rejoice in their good fortune of his abilities being active once again. He shifted his focus to Mikey taking advantage of the man's perplexed state. He impeded Mikey's oxygen supply with a deliberate thought. Mackland was right about all those practice sessions coming in handy. The giant coughed and sputtered before he also sank to his knees near his partner who was flopping around like the blue gill Sam and Dean would fish from Jim's pond.

"Caleb?" Sam asked, looking up at him in surprise. "You're better!"

"You bet I am, Runt." Reaves bent down and retrieved Sid's gun, purposefully stepping on the blond's splayed hand, silently rejoicing when he heard bone grind against bone. He was so tempted to deliver more punishment for the way the bastard had hurt Dean, offered to hurt Sam, but their escape was more important than revenge. Finding Dean and getting both boys to safety was his mission.

Caleb turned to Sam and scooped him up. "Let's go get your big brother and get the hell out of here." He walked through the door, locking it behind them. They would need the time for a head start.

Sam held tightly to his neck. "And Doctor Griffin. We have to save him too."

"He's one of us." Caleb nodded. "We don't leave men behind, Sammy."

Caleb stealthily entered the open area of the cabin, voices floated in from the room. He telepathically searched for Dean, sensing the boy's presence in another area off to their right, perhaps a basement. Sitting Sam down, he knelt beside the child. "Sammy, listen to me."

The little boy's eyes stayed glued on Reaves's face.

"I'm going into the kitchen to help Griffin. I want you to go behind the couch and hide." Reaves pointed to the large leather sofa by the door.

Sam shook his head. "I want to stay with you."

"I'll be right back. We'll get Dean and the three of us will be home in time for Jim's eggnog and reading of The Night Before Christmas."

Sam chewed at his bottom lip, scuffed his shoe. "Okay."

"Good soldier." Caleb ruffled his hair and gave him a quick grin. "Now wait for my signal."

Caleb stood and peered around the wall. It was clear and he jutted his chin for Sam to move. Once the five-year-old disappeared around the corner Caleb advanced. He reached out psychically as he went, frowning when he once again encountered the bubble-like void. It was nothing compared to the confusion of finding Griffin taking coffee with their captor Mathews.

"Griffin?" Caleb stepped out of the shadows, leveled the gun on the two men. "What's going on?"

"I'm having a cup of coffee with Jarrett." Griffin tilted his neck to the side. "The gun won't be necessary."

Caleb hesitated, but held the weapon firm. "Griffin…"

Reaves was unable to read the situation, the mental block was in place once more. He grimaced and couldn't help but to gasp at the sudden intense pain which flared in his head. "Wha…Why are you working with them?"

Jarrett took advantage of Caleb's state. He stood and divested the teen of the gun which he slid across the table to Griffin. Caleb wasn't able to resist. He felt frozen in place, paralyzed physically and psychically. "I'm not working with them," Porter replied coolly. "They work for me."

Realization dawned on Caleb like a glowing mushroom plume in a distant dessert. He released a ragged breath as his mind was suddenly freed from the painful siege. "It was _**you **_blocking me. There were never any drugs."

Porter grinned. "I might have been rather modest about my abilities. I left out the fact that I helped train Missouri Mosley as well as working with your father when he first entered The Brotherhood. Although I have been working on several ways to block psychic abilities, I'm afraid the chemical substance to do so is still only in the developmental phase." The smile faded. "But I don't need such assistance to take care of something like you."

"But why the charade?" Reaves took a step back, staggered by Griffin's machinations. Caleb swallowed. He was sickened and reeling.

Griffin stood up and circled Caleb as if giving a lecture to a student. "People in a crisis tend to bond. Imagine the victims of a crashing plane, the doomed voyagers of the Titanic. I needed you to trust me."

Caleb rubbed a hand down his mouth. He had to gain some control. Sam was in the other room hiding, and Dean was in the basement. The boys needed him. "You're Jim's friend. All that talk of The Triad..."

Griffin shook his head in a mock sadness. "My friend James lost his way a long time ago."

"You're going against The Brotherhood." Caleb's voice rose in anger. He believed in The Brotherhood, and thought they were on the same side-against evil.

Griffin frowned, and grabbed Caleb's wrist. "Don't you talk to me about The Brotherhood. You're tainted. You wearing our ring is an abomination."

Reaves shook off the hard grip. "Said the kidnapper and child torturer."

"The children were never going to be hurt." Jarrett interjected.

Caleb snorted. He shouldn't have been surprised how the situation became twisted. "Dean's sick, and your goon burned his hand. God. Is that bastard a hunter too?" When neither man replied, the teen decided to press matters. "I want to see Dean. Now."

Griffin waggled his finger at Caleb and smiled at the other psychic's posturing. "You are in no position to give orders, regardless of your future position in The Brotherhood."

Caleb didn't care about being the next Knight. He was a hunter to save people and himself. He refused to lose Dean. He twisted the silver band, willing to humble himself. "Here take the ring, I don't care, but I need to see Dean."

"Where's the other boy?" Jarrett looked around the room as if suddenly realizing their folly.

Griffin crossed his arms, refraining from taking Caleb's ring. "I can either waste precious time looking for him and then he can join his brother, or you tell me and Dean joins you here in the warm comfort of the fire."

Caleb felt momentarily defeated, but having everyone in the same room could be a tactical advantage. And if Griffin was as powerful as Reaves imagined, he'd find Sam on his own. "He's hiding behind the couch."

"Call out to him, and have him come in here." Griffin ordered, and returned to the chair, relaxed and sipping his coffee.

"I'll go get Dean." Mathews excused himself.

"Sam." Caleb cleared his throat, trying to add some warmth instead of fear into his voice. "Sammy, I need you come over here."

Sam bounded forward, and ran to Caleb's legs. "Are we leaving now? Where's Dean."

"We can't leave just yet, Sam." Griffin answered as he put the cup down. He leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. "The mountain is a dangerous place-lot of unknown things lurking in dark places."

The youngest Winchester was silent for a moment, and obviously puzzled by the inaction. "I wanta go home." Sam hiccupped a sob. "I want Dean."

Caleb crouched down so he was level with Sam to offer some consolation. "It won't be long, Sammy."

"There's your brother now." Griffin smiled as he heard the shuffling feet.

Dean was wavering; Jarrett had a guiding hand on his shoulder. The ten year old was pale, his focus on his feet. He took slow, halting steps and didn't acknowledge the presence of Caleb or his brother.

Griffin put his hand up, halting Caleb from going to Dean. Head bowed, Dean walked to Caleb and then collapsed in a heap.

"Dean?" Sam scurried near his brother.

Caleb reached out and caught the boy before he could hit the floor "Deuce?" Dean's skin was like ice. Reaves glared at Mathews. "He's freezing."

Jarrett clenched his jaw but didn't reply. Sam moved around Mathews to retrieve an old afghan from the couch. He quickly dragged it to Reaves. "Here, Caleb."

"Thanks, Sammy." Caleb wrapped the blanket around the lethargic ten-year-old, concerned when Dean didn't protest the swaddling. "You with us, Kiddo? How you doing?"

Dean lifted his head, his green eyes bright and glassy. He leaned into Caleb, seeking comfort as shivers shook his slight frame. "I don't feel too good."

Reaves looked to Porter. "Was this part of your brilliant plan?"

Dean coughed and the congestion was audible. "Caleb? Are we leaving now?"

"Not yet, Dean." Griffin spoke up, sounding far from concerned or sorry. "We're waiting on your father and Pastor Jim. Imagine their surprise when they find this all to be one big misunderstanding."

RcJ

A/N: A huge thank you to those who have reviewed. I know I've said this before, but it does inspire me. And thanks to Tidia, who helped me over a rough spot in this part. I apologize for the delay in posting. This time of year is hectic for me. But I'll try to have the next part of HR done soon.


	7. Chapter 7

Paper Tiger

Chapter 7

Beta: Tidia

A/N: I promise this is all going somewhere and it is leading us up to To The Victor Goes the Spoils. I'm having a little trouble being patient with the process; I hope you all are fairing better. I so appreciate the comments and reviews. They always seem to show up at the moments when I'm ready to chuck this baby out the window and devote more time to Yoga or watching the grass grow. Thanks everyone.

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ _

**_"The lion who breaks the enemy's ranks is a minor hero compared to the lion who overcomes himself." –Meylana Rumi _**

It was lightly snowing as they reached Yancey County, North Carolina. The small town of Melbourne rose out of the shadow of the mountains like a Christmas village in a snow globe. Lights twinkled from the windows of the small diner where Harland Sawyer was to meet them and a life-size plastic Santa loomed by the doorway, appearing more fierce than jolly in the gloomy predawn.

"Charming place." Mackland observed as he pointed to the non-traditional painted scenes of elves carrying guns and stalking Santa's reindeer.

Bobby laughed. "This is hunting country, Mac. We're lucky every truck in the parking lot didn't have a Rudolph or Bambi strapped to the front of it."

"I suppose they'll hunt anything. Hence the name?" Ames frowned, gestured to the sign with a beady-eyed rodent. "The Possum's Trot? Why not just call it the Road Kill Café?"

John ignored the conversation and pulled the door open. He was immune to Mackland's grumbling diatribe about the locales they chose to frequent in their line of work. If it was up to the doctor, The Four Seasons would be bombarded by their brethren. "Caleb would like it."

His words had Mackland's gray eyes on him. "I blame that on you. Same goes for his taste in Salvation Army attire."

John grinned despite the faint ache in his chest and entered the restaurant behind his fellow hunters. He had to hand it to Mackland. If the name wasn't enough of a turn off the burly back-woods clientele would have made the normal tourist consider searching for the nearest golden arches of McDonalds. Sam would have definitely been voting that way.

"I'm starving," Bobby announced, unfazed by the glares and disdainful looks being tossed in their direction. "I hope they have something on the menu besides their mascot."

Mackland continued to look slightly horrified, but followed after the mechanic who headed for one of the back booths. John removed his jacket and gestured to the waitress behind the counter before joining them.

"If this is the kind of place Harland chose for dining on a frequent basis I can understand why Esme terminated her relationship with him."

John watched Mackland use his napkin to rub at the permanent stains on the Formica table top. Bobby had claimed the middle of the opposite bench so John slid in beside The Scholar. "Yeah. That's probably a legitimate reason for divorce in your circle, Mac. Right up there with wearing off-brand fashion labels."

Ames shook his head, but didn't comment. Instead he pulled a menu from behind the Mrs. Santa Claus salt shaker and peered at it with all the intensity John had seen him use when reading a medical chart.

Bobby leaned across the table, one eyebrow arched. "So, you and Esme have discussed the intimate details of her splitting with old Dick, huh?" He drummed his fingers. "Bastard cheated on her left and right I bet."

Mackland frowned at Singer. "I'm not discussing my relationship with Esme with you, Bobby."

The mechanic wasn't deterred. "So you admit there is a 'relationship'."

Seeing Bobby make invisible quotes in the air as he slowly said the word relationship was amusing as was Mackland's nervous fidgeting, but John wasn't willing to endure another round of bickering from Singer and Ames. He understood that Bobby was trying to distract the doctor, and keep him from worrying about Caleb. But, John's melancholy from sleep deprivation and his own worry made him frayed. "Boys…"

"I admit no such thing," Mackland snapped. "I barely know the woman."

"Right." Bobby's grin widened wolfishly. "But you'd like to know her. In the 'Biblical' sense."

"Not all of us have the primal urge to bed every attractive member of the opposite sex, Bobby."

"Yeah. They're called…"

"Boys." John growled, interrupting the growing confrontation. "You two are worse than Dean and Sam. Give it a rest."

The mention of the missing boys had Singer slumping in his seat contritely and Mackland going back to his menu. "I wonder if they really do serve possum here."

John snorted at the Sam-like quality Mac's voice held. For once Ames would probably jump at the chance for a visit to McDonalds. "I bet it's their daily special."

"Actually, Sugar, that would be Larry's Big Boy Breakfast," said a gravely voice from beside them.

All three men glanced up at the burly blonde waitress. She sat a pot of coffee on their table along with three mugs. The name tag prominently displayed on her ample chest proclaimed she was Alice and the flirtatious smile she offered as she leaned over them to carefully slide each man his coffee hinted at the kind of tip she was hoping for. "It's sure to give strapping boys like yourselves enough energy to run and play in the woods."

Bobby's eyes lit up and John figured it was the combination of stale cigarette smoke, Aqua Net hairspray, and cheap perfume going to his head. Singer was a sucker for a truck stop venue. "Does it come with eggs and bacon, Darlin'?"

"Sure does," Alice purred. "Grits, biscuits and gravy, and a short stack come along for the ride."

"Not to mention the sodium, saturated fats and refined sugars," Mackland mumbled under his breath. He shot Bobby a look. "Remember your cholesterol?"

Singer ignored him and gave Alice a wink. "I'll take the special."

Mackland frowned. "I'll just have toast, wheat if you have it"

"He's from New York," Bobby offered in explanation when Alice looked slightly stricken.

"Oh." Her smile returned. "We get plenty of those nature-enthusiasts up here this time of year." She scribbled something on her notepad. "I'll pull out the whole-grain healthy stuff and sprinkle some wheat germ in the butter before I grill it up, especially for you, sugar." Alice looked at John. "You from New York too, hon?"

"No. Kansas."

"Then I'll bring you two Big Boys and a Tree Hugger Delight."

"Delight." Bobby snickered as the waitress walked away. "She has you pegged, Mac."

The doctor looked past the window to the large building across the parking lot. It was a motel quaintly titled the Fox's Den. "You think Jim's having any luck?"

The pastor had taken on the mission of securing them some rooms for a home base. "I don't think there are enough trucks and bikes in the parking lot to fill up the place, Mac." John drank his coffee, shifting his gaze to the dark mass in the distance. It was barely light enough to make out the shape of the building. "Maybe Harland beat us here."

"Considering you disregarded every speed limit and committed several other traffic violations I find that highly unlikely." Ames favored John with a smirk. "And you wonder why I was upset when you took it upon yourself to teach my son to drive."

"I turned a six hour drive into a four hour and forty-five minute trip," John replied. "That's a useful skill in our line of work. We agreed time was the enemy."

"If he would have waited on you to decide, Junior would still be hoofing it."

"I think I'm better equipped to determine the appropriate times for Caleb to experience life's rites of passage than you, Bobby. Caution and patience are valuable virtues."

"Says the man who has yet to get to know Esme in a 'Biblical' sense." Singer snorted. "Thank God the boy has my talent with the ladies. Good thing I took it upon _myself_ to help him along in that area. If it was left up to you, he'd still be spinning his wheels and driving in circles around the opposite sex."

John put a restraining arm out to keep Mackland in his seat. The physician's highly valued patience was waning and Winchester knew Bobby was going a little too far to distract the doctor. "He's only pulling your chain, Mac."

Ames relaxed against the booth once more. "I'll remind you of that when he takes your sons to the local cathouse for an unscheduled, unapproved fieldtrip."

"It was not a cathouse," Bobby refuted. "It was a very nice dining and drinking establishment."

Mackland shot the mechanic and incredulous look. "Like the one we're currently in?"

Bobby grinned. "Sure, but with a little less ambiance and a better stocked bar."

The clanging of the bells on the door kept Mackland from replying and saved John from continuing to play referee. Jim and Harland entered the restaurant to another round of disdainful stares and muffled conversation. John wasn't surprised to see Silas Fox bringing up the rear. The man often trailed Sawyer's coattails. Despite his choice in friends, Silas was a good hunter, and excellent tracker. John wasn't about to look any gift horse in the mouth.

"You made good time," John said. Jim took the seat by Bobby, Harland and Silas pulled chairs from a nearby table to join them.

Harland flashed his perfected salesman grin and clasped Winchester's shoulder. "The Knight summons and we foot soldiers answer the call."

John held his own forced smile in place. "Taking orders well is the first step to someday being able to give them."

Jim cleared his throat, dusting snow from his silver hair. "The Triad appreciates loyalty, Harland. I appreciate you and Silas coming so quickly."

"I'm sorry to hear about the boys." Silas looked from John to Mackland. "It's hard to believe someone would be willing to take them for a bunch of journals no one is sure exists."

John met Jim's gaze. The pastor had asked the silver not be mentioned. It was unlike Murphy to be purposively secretive, yet somehow John was just beginning to realize the man had more twists and turns than the mountainous terrain around them. "Sometimes things aren't as they seem."

"You think these men are after something else?" Harland asked, plastic smile still in place.

"It really doesn't matter what they want," John stated. "I just want them found and dealt with."

"The area around Griffin's cabin isn't the easiest to maneuver even in good weather." Silas gestured towards the window. "The snow will only get worse on Mt. Mitchell."

"We're not even sure that's where they are," Mackland pointed out. "Our theory is based mostly on conjecture and some information Dean was able to reveal."

"What about you, Mackland? Can't you look into a crystal ball or something and narrow down a location?" Harland asked with an attempt at a good-humored chuckle. "Isn't that what you do for the Feds?"

"I'm not a witch," Ames replied. "Or a mystic. I use the science of psychometrics to locate persons."

"Of course." Harland's grin widened. "I get those new age things confused. That's more my wife's forte."

"I agree that Dick's easily confused." Bobby scratched his beard and glanced to Mackland. "How about you?"

Jim cleared his throat and shot Singer a warning glance before turning to Harland and Silas. "Mackland has been unable to access his abilities in this matter. We will have to use more traditional ways."

"I can rent us some ATVs," Silas offered. "We could do a sweep of the area without getting too close to the cabin."

"We can also talk to some of the locals." John shifted his gaze to include the men around them. He looked at Harland. Despite his dislike of the man, he had talents that could come in use. "That will be a good job for you, Sawyer. See if they've noticed anyone new in the area. Any unusual activity."

Harland nodded, looking extremely pleased. "I'll use the science of charm and charisma to loosen their tongues." He glanced to Mackland. "They don't give PhDs in it, but it's never left me high and dry in any area of my life."

"Don't feel bad, Slick." Bobby smirked at the other hunter. "I usually put some letters at the end of your name just for the hell of it. S.O.B. isn't quite the same as Mackland's M.D. but who the hell cares?"

"Still quite the character, aren't you Bobby?" Harland's smile never slipped from his handsome face, but his blue eyes narrowed. "How's the junkyard business by the way?"

"I think Bobby should go with John and Silas." Jim continued on with the details of their plan. "Mackland and I will continue our research and we'll all meet back at the motel in two hours." The Guardian leveled his gaze on John. "I want you to stay in radio contact and I do not want you to act on any level without speaking with me."

"That sounded like an order, Jim." John raised a brow.

"Perhaps because that's exactly what it was, Corporal."

Harland rubbed his chin. "What was all that about being able to take orders?"

John snorted. More fucking twists and turns. "Yes, sir."

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ _

It was hot. Too hot. Dean tried to roll over, convinced he must have fallen asleep by the pond at Pastor Jim's farm. But somewhere in the foggy recesses of his mind he realized that didn't make sense. Dean remembered snow. The cold freezing touch of it on his skin, the distinct taste of it in his mouth. His family had been staying in Virginia.

He and Sam had built a fort of the white powdery stuff, spending a few mindless, fun hours tunneling and lobbing snowballs at one another. Then Dean had made hot chocolate and soup. That was before the men came.

Reality forced its way past his weakened defenses like their attackers, barging in with blinding agony. Dean was jerked to consciousness by the fiery pain erupting in his chest. The coughing was unavoidable; Dean gagged as he tried to hold it at bay.

"Deuce?" The familiar voice was followed by a steadying hand on Dean's chest, then a blessedly cool touch to his forehead. "You awake?"

Dean blinked, trying to force his eyes to cooperate. Everything seemed fuzzy and out of focus but with a little effort, Caleb's worried face came into view. "Damien…" the ten-year-old rasped.

Relief colored Caleb's face and he slid his fingers through Dean's damp hair. "I'm here, kiddo. You okay?"

Dean tried to turn his head. "Sammy?"

"He's asleep," Caleb said with a glance to the other bed. "After a lot of arguing and some totally empty threats."

Things were coming back to Dean. He remembered the cabin…the kidnapping. "He… alright?"

"He's fine." Caleb's determined gaze held his. "Worried about you. That makes two of us by the way. How you doing?"

Dean didn't answer the question. His thoughts were still scrambled and fragmented. He frowned and his face hurt. "Dad?"

Asking for his father must have been worse than telling the truth. The look of confidence on Caleb's face faltered. Anyone who didn't know him as well as Dean might not have noticed. "He'll be here, Dean. Soon. I feel it."

Dean felt his eyes close, but quickly opened them as a wave of panic washed over him. More memories of their current situation found him. He remembered stupid Sid storming into the kitchen, death blazing in his livid eyes. It had been after Dean's liberation from the cellar and even though Dean was pretty out of it, he recalled Sid attacking Caleb. There was shouting. Both Sid and Mathews disagreeing on how to handle the situation. Dean remembered Griffin's voice, too.

He and Sam were pulled out from the fray, away from Caleb. Sammy was crying. Dean thought he might have given in to a few tears himself, but blamed the stupid cold clouding his head.

Sid and Mike were unhappy Reaves had gotten the drop on them. Dean studied his friend. "You…okay?"

"I'm good." Caleb grinned again.

Dean didn't buy it. There were new bruises on the older boy's face, a nasty cut over his eye. And Caleb was sitting funny, slumped over slightly, protecting his ribs. The ten-year-old wanted to call Caleb on it, but managed only a whimper as the attempted words felt like sandpaper rubbing over his raw throat.

"Shh…no more talking," Caleb soothed.

Again the eighteen-year-old's fingers sifted through his hair and Dean shut his eyes. He wanted to say more, to make sure Caleb hadn't been hurt…but the pull of sleep was tempting. He soon found himself being lulled by Caleb's touch and his voice. His friend was saying something about a blue shirt and tigers. The words didn't matter; it was the tone and the presence. It reminded Dean of when he was a little boy, because even though Dean was only ten, he'd stopped being a little kid a long time ago.

Dean was unsure when it happened…when his father stopped taking care of him. John Winchester tried after the fire. At least he made an effort, but the dad Dean had known disappeared in the flames right along with his mother, taking the four-year-old part of their son with them. John still provided Dean with all the basic necessities, but it seemed to Dean as if he had forgotten the other stuff…the really important stuff.

But Dean didn't forget. He made sure Sam had it all.

Somewhere along the line Dean stopped wanting it for himself, convinced he didn't need it. But no matter how hard he tried, how brave and strong he was, sometimes that four-year-old ghost resurfaced. Somehow, Caleb seemed to understand that.

Suddenly Dean felt as if all the heat generated by his dream had fled the room upon his waking. It seemed as if he were lying once more in the snow looking up at the crude packed ceiling of his and Sam's fort. Dean shivered, his teeth chattered. "I'm…cold," he whispered, unable to speak louder and take in the required amount of air for speaking.

The words were barely out of his mouth when he felt himself being lifted, strong arms circling him. "It's okay." Caleb's warm breath brushed against his ear. "I've got you."

A part of Dean knew it was selfish to give in. A rough commanding voice in his head agreed. It ordered Dean to fight to stay awake, to suck it up and check on Sammy, to wait out a rescue with Caleb. But the bigger part of him that four-year-old who refused to remain buried merely wanted to cry, to let everyone know just how miserable he was. He wanted his mom…his dad.

Dean buried his head against Caleb's chest, wrapped his fingers in the familiar flannel and allowed sleep to reclaim him. Maybe he would wake up next time to find it was all a bad dream.

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ _

Caleb felt the moment Dean gave up the fight. He held the kid for awhile longer, wishing he could do something more useful…something that would actually help Dean. The last time he felt so powerless had been when he was lost in the woods with Joshua and the boys, and Dean injured by the black dog. History seemed to be repeating itself too often with the common theme of Dean falling victim to the current foe and Reaves failing to do his job of preventing it from happening. None of it should be happening.

Dean coughed again and Reaves winced at the rattling sound. Each breath sounded as if the kid had swallowed a whistle and the heat from his skin penetrated both their layers of clothing, sparking a fire in Caleb that left him in a cold sweat. He was tired of waiting to be rescued.

Caleb stood, carefully lifting Dean. His ribs screamed in protest and every muscle in his body ached from the beating he had taken from Griffin's goons. He moved to the other bed where Sam was curled around the stuffed dinosaur he'd found. Reaves situated Dean beside his brother and Sam awoke, blinking blearily up at him. "Dean?"

"He's asleep, Sammy."

"Is he still sick?"

Caleb sighed. "Yeah. "

"What are you going to do?"

Reaves glanced at the door to their prison. What was he going to do? "I'm going to get the doctor." He returned his gaze to Sam. "Remember that Mercury mojo you used last month?"

Sam nodded. "I kept Dean warm."

Caleb smiled. "Did a damn fine job too for the smallest planet in your class."

The little boy abandoned the toy and snuggled close to his brother. "I'll take care of Dean."

"I know you will." He licked his lips. "I'll be back, okay?"

"But…" Sam started.

Caleb cut him off with a touch. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I'm leaving you in charge. You protect your brother. Got it?"

The kid nodded. "We have to keep him safe."

Caleb swallowed thickly. "Yeah. That's our job, Sammy."

Reaves pulled the blankets up over both boys and moved to the door separating him from their captors. He placed his hands on the rough wood and focused all his thoughts on Griffin. The doctor, no matter how talented in the psychic arena, seemed incapable of blocking him completely if he wasn't in the same room.

Caleb hoped to be able to reach him on some level. If not, he could always beat on the damn door like any normal person. But he didn't want to scare the boys further and there was something satisfying about being able to breach the other man's barrier-to gain access where others couldn't.

Griffin struck him as a man who liked to be king of the mountain. He probably saw his abilities as a sign he was better than mere mortals whereas Reaves thought of his own as just the opposite. Caleb might have been unable to topple him, but he could be a nuisance.

It didn't take long. The lock turned and Caleb stepped back as the door was pulled open. Mathews was there, a gun held firmly in his hand. "Griffin isn't pleased."

"That's too bad," Caleb replied. "Especially if it's your job to keep the good doctor all happy as a clam."

Mathews clenched his jaw. "Do you have a death wish, kid?"

"No. The opposite in fact. I want to talk to Porter."

"He's busy."

"Then I'll keep trying back until he's free." Caleb tapped a finger to his head. "The psychic hotline is not always the most reliable, but I'm persistent."

"And arrogant."

"Says the man who stole the children of the Triad and went along with the plan to call out The Guardian."

"Are you willing to tell us what you know?"

Caleb frowned. He could read the man despite the fact Mathews had trained himself to ward off such invasion. John had the same type of defenses only stronger and Reaves had plenty of practice maneuvering around Winchester's blockade when necessary. "You know I don't know what you were hoping for. You know Griffin's plan has gone to hell. This is going to end badly, especially for you. Where will that leave your sons when it's all over?"

"I might not be a psychic, Reaves, but I damn well know how to use this gun. You really want to test my patience? Get the hell out of my head."

"No." Caleb growled. "I want Griffin to let us go…at least let the boys go."

"That's not going to happen."

"Then I want him to help Dean. He's sick." Caleb glanced over his shoulder. "Really sick and if anything happens to him…"

Mathews followed Reaves's line of sight, looking past the teen into the darkened room. "It was never our intention for them to be hurt."

Caleb glared at him. "Best laid plans and such."

Mathews shook his head and then gestured with the gun. "Come with me."

Reaves did as he said, one last look at the boys. He followed Mathews to the rear of the cabin. They passed several doors, which Caleb assumed were bedrooms before walking through a breezeway.

Caleb had to admit the change in atmosphere was breathtaking. If not for the situation he would have taken a moment to be awed by the design. The roughly hewn porch was encased in glass walls, allowing the occupant a surreal feeling of hanging over a ledge, high amongst the tree tops around them.

Large over-stuffed chairs, a bear-skin rug and table filled the room as did a roaring fireplace along the brick back wall. It was there Caleb found Griffin, standing with his back to the flames, looking out towards the snowy branches that seemed to glow in the predawn light.

"You're testing my patience, Caleb."

"You've long since crossed my threshold."

Porter turned to face the younger psychic, a look of irritation and half-amusement lighting his face. "You have an audacity and talent I can appreciate, but that won't keep saving you."

"That's really a moot point, isn't it?" Caleb shifted his gaze to Mathews, who was standing off to the side, still holding his gun on Reaves. "I mean I'm guessing you were planning on killing me from the beginning seeing as how you revealed yourself to me."

"That's not true," Mathews spoke up. "No one is going to die."

Caleb laughed. "Keep telling yourself that."

"Don't pay him any mind, Jarrett. He thinks he's quite smarter than he is."

Reaves was far from stupid, unlike Mathews who seemed not to understand completely what Griffin had in mind. "Seems to me you went to a lot of trouble to make me believe you were being held hostage too, and I don't buy the whole idea of it being just so we could bond. In fact, you're such a damn good psychic; you could have merely taken whatever information you wanted from me or the boys."

"But where would the fun in that be?"

"I think you never planned on letting me leave this mountain…maybe you weren't even going to let the boys live."

Griffin shrugged. "If Murphy is no longer The Guardian, then they are no threat to me."

"But I am?"

"As long as you continue to breathe, you are a threat to The Brotherhood. Sam's destiny is still unclear. He could be useful, as Jim himself has theorized, but you..."

Caleb tensed at the mention of the youngest Winchester. He pushed thoughts of Sam's latent abilities to the farthest reaches of his mind in case Griffin attempted to force past his barriers to retrieve them. "Why would you lump me and Sam together? There's nothing wrong with Sam."

It was Porters turn to laugh, tossing Caleb's words back at him. "Keep telling yourself that."

Caleb clenched his jaw. "Then just do it and get it over with. Get rid of me. But let the boys go. Dean is sick. He needs a doctor."

"I'm a doctor."

"One who understands the Hippocratic oath."

"Like your father?" Griffin walked closer to Reaves. "I hear he's on his way. Along with the rest of The Triad. Of course this is dangerous territory…bears and such. Anything could happen to them."

Caleb took a step forward, but Mathews caught his sleeve. "Nothing is going to happen to The Triad. Or to you." Jarrett shot a look in Griffin's direction. "That was never our plan."

Reaves turned on the man, jerking himself free. "But usurping The Guardian was? Why? For power? For the silver or those stupid journals you were asking about? You call yourselves hunters? People are being hurt and worse while you pull off your little coup."

"How dare you preach to us about the code of The Brotherhood."

Caleb realized he'd touched a nerve. Porter's face twisted, losing some of its smug arrogance. "Someone needs to."

"Not you!" Griffin snapped. "Not anyone of your kind."

"My _kind_?" The eighteen-year-old shot him a look of incredulity. "_You're_ a bigot? That's almost laughable. Not to mention you're a psychic! Just like me. And The Brotherhood has honored those with abilities for generations, choosing the best for the position of Scholar. You yourself said the gift was bestowed by Merlin."

"Not yours!" Griffin roared. "You are everything we fight against. I tried to tell James that. He should have let Elkins kill you all those nights ago as the rest of us suggested."

"Griffin!" Jarrett stepped between the two. "Stop it."

"Why? You think he doesn't know the truth? You don't think he realizes that our inner circle supported Elkin's theory for good reason-like the bloody trail of murder and destruction that leads right to his family?" Griffin made sure he was looking at Reaves. "You think he doesn't realize that James lost crucial support by choosing to bring him into the fold and by doing so weakened the very foundation of The Brotherhood?" He faced Jarrett again. "He knows, but is too selfish to lay down his sword and admit it…especially to himself."

"My abilities came from my grandmother." Mackland had promised it was a valid theory and part of Reaves still clung to that. "I'm not a…."

"A demon?" Griffin cut Caleb off with a snort. "Your grandmother read tea leaves, told fortunes to silly old women and dabbled in Hoodoo. Your gifts have nothing to do with her and everything to do with your grandfather. They are too close to what our demon counterparts are capable of and if young Sam…"

"Shut up!"

Griffin's knowing smile slipped into place. "Everything and everyone your family came into contact with died or was destroyed. You witnessed it for yourself."

Reaves shook his head feeling the familiar tingling within his mind as synapses were touched upon. The sensation was feather-light but insidious, like a spider crawling up his arm. Griffin was doing just as Caleb had accused him -pulling things from Reaves's thoughts as the images sprung unbidden to Caleb's consciousness. "Stop it."

"You watched your father stab your mother to death. He was going to kill you too. Perhaps the human part of him saved you all those years ago, but who's to say those _you _care about will be so lucky when the turning moment for you comes. Because it will come. And who is to say you will spare those closest by committing an act such as suicide as your father did?" Griffin tilted his head sideways. "Will Sam be that lucky?" He paused for theatrical effect. "Will Deuce?"

Caleb lunged for the man, completely sold on the idea of killing him with his bare hands, but found himself on his knees instead. A blinding explosion at the back of his head had him reeling and seeing stars as he fought to stay conscious.

"That wasn't necessary, Jarrett. I'm quite capable of handling him."

Griffin's amused voice faded in and out as Reaves realized Mathews had pistol whipped him with the gun.

"Enough of these games, Griffin! They aren't necessary either."

"I'm only trying to make him understand the reasoning behind this, Jarrett. To have him accept his part in Jim's downfall as The Guardian. Not to mention the part the Winchester's play."

Caleb lifted his head to stare defiantly at Porter. The man sounded almost like an earnest professor trying to explain a difficult concept to a challenged student. "You're afraid of us." It was all beginning to make a sick kind of sense to Caleb. The story about Merlin, the questions about the silver. "You want to get rid of Jim so you can be rid of all of us. John, Mackland..."

Porter looked down at him. "Jim's time is over as is your father's and Winchester's. Yours, too."

"I don't care what happens to me." Caleb shoved against the floor, managing to make it to his knees. "But Sam and Dean are innocent kids; they have nothing to do with this damn it."

"Don't they?"

"Porter?" Sid appeared in the entranceway. "You told me to come get you if anyone called on the radio." He paused, waiting for Griffin to acknowledge his presence. "It's your man Louis. Something's going down."

"Get him out of my sight." Griffin said to Mathews, stepping around Reaves. He started after Mike.

"What about Dean?" Caleb swallowed his pride and tried again. "He needs help…maybe even a hospital."

Porter stopped, a sad and regretful expression gracing his face. It appeared almost genuine. He left the room.

"Get up." Jarrett grabbed the teen's arm and hauled him roughly to his feet. Caleb swayed and Mathews steadied him with an exasperated sigh. "I told you not to test my patience."

Caleb frowned at the scolding. "Dean's going to die. Are you going to be able to live with that? Your partner is going to kill me, and you bet I will haunt your ass." Reaves pushed away the helping hand. "You keep thinking about that."

Mathews gave the teen a rough shove towards the door. "I promise you I'll think of nothing else."

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ _

Soft words floated through Dean's mind urging him to wake up. It was his brother's voice.

"Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here. Ever this day be at my side,  
to light and guard, to rule and guide. AMEN."

"Sammy?" Dean raised his head despite the fact it felt as heavy as a bowling ball. He saw the mass of his brother's hair from over the side of the mattress. Sam was kneeled beside the bed. "What…are you doing?"

The five-year-old looked up, his earnest face registering an innocent awe. "I'm praying."

Dean took a shallow breath and swallowed the sudden lump of emotion, making it more difficult to breathe. Sam's hands were clasped together, tucked beneath his chin. "What for?"

Sam blinked. "For you." A smile broke through. "And it worked. You're awake. Do you feel better?"

Dean nodded, unable to disappoint his brother. "Yeah." His mouth twitched. "It's a miracle."

Sam crawled back onto the bed. "Pastor Jim says all we have to do is ask and have faith." Sam's hand found its way to Dean's, entwining their fingers. The touch was cold against Dean's hot skin, but warming in a completely different way. "I was worried after that whole puppy thing."

Dean wanted to laugh, but didn't have the energy. Before his birthday last year Sam had prayed every night for weeks for a dog. God's will was no match for John Winchester's stubbornness. He looked around the room instead. "Where's…Caleb?"

Sam's grip tightened. He lay down by his brother. "With the bad men."

Dean closed his eyes as a chill found its way through the momentary comfort. Sam moved closer to him as if he sensed Dean's fear. "We could pray for him."

The words were so soft, reverent; Dean almost didn't hear them even with Sam's face close to his. He turned and their eyes met.

Dean wanted to pray for lots of things. To not be sick anymore. For their father to suddenly burst in and make everything better. But Dean had prayed for things before. And unlike his brother, he couldn't be quite so understanding about not getting what he wanted desperately…what he needed.

"Do you want to? I can teach you."

God wouldn't bring Dean's mother back or make his father happy again so he seriously doubted God would care what Dean wanted now. He wondered if there really was a God. But Sam was looking at him in only the way Sam could. No matter how hard it was for him to believe in the things Pastor Jim preached about Dean had complete faith in his brother. "You do it, Sammy."

Sam held his gaze for a moment and then nodded as if he understood completely. "I'll pray hard enough for both of us."

RcJ

A/N: As always, thanks to Tidia who made this piece better and who keeps me plugging away on this work. The prayer that Sam says was also from a very cute story she told me about her God daughter. I loved it and knew it had to find its way to a Sam moment somewhere.


	8. Chapter 8

Paper Tiger

Chapter 8

Beta: Tidia

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_The tiger's hunting skills are quite different than most other cat's. Unlike lions and cheetahs, the tiger ambushes it's prey. It waits for them in cover and then lunges, usually killing with one snap of its powerful jaws. _

Silas was right about the weather. The snow fell heavier with their ascension of Mt. Mitchell, making traveling slightly perilous. John believed Nature was a moody female. The fact the terrain was breathtaking, appeared utterly harmless and serene on the surface gave credibility to his belief that an essence of feminine persuasion was at hand.

"Rifleman?"

Silas Fox's voice crackled over the radio. John lowered his binoculars and picked up the walkie-talkie. "Rifleman here."

"Red Fox heading your way."

"Roger, Red Fox. White flag engaged." John rubbed his eyes and set the radio down. It wasn't exactly 'military' protocol, but it would keep them from shooting one another. A snapping of a twig and the sound of movement in the underbrush heralded Silas's approach.

"That was quick."

"Didn't take long to find what I was looking for."

"What?"

"Definite signs of activity, and not from the friendly forest animals." Silas pulled his thick gloves off and rubbed his hands together. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a thin metal wire. "Found this along with a nice little explosive device."

John's frown deepened. "A grenade? You're shitting me." Who the hell were they dealing with?

"Not really. Looked more like a kid's firework."

"Designed to make a lot of noise, but not kill."

"Would have probably hurt like hell."

"You don't think it could be left over from someone protecting their recent patch do you?" John knew the south was known for its illegal cash crop of marijuana. The tree canopy provided a perfect camouflage.

"I considered that." Silas snorted. "But I don't think we'd see it this high up and I found several of these rigs on the trail as well as the off-beaten path. They've been set recently." He held up the wire again. "No rust."

Winchester nodded. "So we're on the right track."

"Apparently."

John's radio squawked and Bobby's voice echoed around them. "Rifleman, this is Junkyard Dog. Do you read?"

"Red Fox and Rifleman here. Go ahead, JD."

"I just arrived at Grandma's house. The Big Bad Wolf is there."

John took the walkie-talkie from Silas. Bobby confirmed something was going on at Griffin's cabin, and he hoped his boys were there too. "Do you have visual confirmation?"

"No. Lights are on and someone's got a nice big fire going. Should I go knock?"

John tightened his grip on the radio and sighed in irritation. He would have to wait for Jim, as much as it pained him to be patient. "No. Fall back and regroup." John thought of Silas's revelation and added a warning. "Watch out for Animal Control, JD. Red Fox nearly got caught in a trap."

"Roger. Junkyard over and out."

"At least we know where they are, John." Silas spoke up. "That's more than you knew before."

"Why doesn't that make me feel a whole hell of a lot better?"

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Caleb remained with his back to the room, and his forehead resting against the closed door. Matthews had escorted him back without the hope of any assistance for Dean. Damn Griffin Porter to hell.

There were moments when Caleb had the sudden urge to kill something. It usually happened when he was bearing witness to a heinous crime he could neither control nor stop. He supposed part of it stemmed from experiencing the worst kind of helplessness as a child. Griffin reminded him of his long buried memories, using the biting blade of truth as a weapon. An effective and painful tool.

Caleb watched the murder of his mother by his loving father. Then he witnessed his father's suicide while he cowered frozen and powerless in the closet. No matter how deep he buried those memories or wove himself into the fabric of his new life in The Brotherhood, nothing would alter that reality. Caleb's abilities fated him to forever be in that closet- a watcher of horrible, horrible things.

He turned to face his current reality, knowing shutting his eyes to it would not make it better. Dean and Sam were still sleeping on the bed. Sam's head rested on Dean's shoulder, Dean's arm protectively draped over his little brother. Anyone who didn't know them would guess it was a normal, peaceful sleep if not for the flush of his cheeks and furrow of Dean's brow, Sam's thumb in his mouth

Caleb knew them. Knew Dean was sicker than he'd ever seen him. Knew Sam was scared enough to revert back to his two-year-old thumb sucking. And it made him want to kill Griffin. But he also knew Sam and Dean were doing what they did best, protecting each other the only way they could. And Caleb wanted to preserve that pure, simple untainted feeling to prove to the world, but maybe mainly himself that good did exist.

Reaves sat down on the bed and rested his palm against Dean's face. The ten-year-old was too hot and Caleb knew he was going to have to do something about it or Dean could die.

That wasn't acceptable.

Dean had become as much a part of Caleb as those intrinsic urges to destroy everything evil. Protect Deuce was as second nature as swinging a sword or salting and burning a corpse. Maybe more so.

Jim liked to tell him the old Native American tale of the boy who had two wolves warring for dominance inside of him-one good and one evil. The boy was torn and upset that his soul would forever be divided, at ill-rest. He constantly worried about which wolf would come out victorious in the end. Until one day his grandfather, a wise medicine man, shared a simple solution with him. 'The wolf that wins will be the one you take care of-the one you feed.'

Dean was Caleb's Champion Wolf.

It wasn't because John Winchester drilled it into his head or Mac's journal theory of Caleb's 'latent desires for a sibling bond'. In all fairness, Caleb's use of 'Deuce' gave his father credible therapeutic evidence.

He didn't need John to tell him to watch out for the boys. He formed a bond with Dean when he recognized he had found a kindred spirit. The fact he gained a brother in every way that mattered was merely icing on the cake. And he wasn't about to lose that. Nor would he allow Sam to lose it.

His thoughts were interrupted as Dean stirred beneath his touch and then opened his eyes.

"It worked," the ten-year-old muttered.

"What worked?"

Dean turned his head to glance at Sam and then shivered. "Never mind." He refocused on Caleb. "Don't do that again, Damien."

"Do what?"

"Disappear."

"You were worried about me." Reaves forced a grin. "I'm trying to save your ass, Deana. So stop the bitching."

"Am I dying?"

"What?" Caleb's smile faltered. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around Dean's hand with a tight grip. "No. And don't say that again."

Dean winced. "Sorry."

Caleb realized he'd grabbed the kid's injured hand and released it with a remorseful look. "No…I'm sorry. Just don't talk like that. Okay?"

"Are you sure?" Dean's voice was hoarse.

"Deuce." Caleb sighed, rubbed a hand over his mouth. "I'm sure. All right? I promise."

Determined green eyes stayed locked with Caleb's gold ones. "Did you have a vision?"

"No." Reaves shook his head, not understanding the line of questioning.

Dean licked his lips. "Good."

Dean seemed appeased by the answer and that puzzled Caleb. "What does that have to do with anything?"

The ten-year-old shrugged. "You would know if I was in that kind of trouble."

Caleb felt crushed under the intense scrutiny, the complete faith. "I hope so."

"Then it just _feels_ like I'm dying."

Caleb reached up and raked a hand over his hair. "I know it sucks. But hang in there."

Dean swallowed, grimacing. "Can you try that Griffin trick? The one he did for my hand?"

"No." Caleb didn't like to think he had trusted the bastard-given him permission to mess with Dean's mind. "If I could make you feel better I would, kiddo. Believe me."

"Where's Griffin? He's a doctor."

Caleb clenched his fists. It wasn't like Dean to ask for help. The boys were still not completely cognizant of the fact Griffin switched camps…or had been in the enemy's camp all along. "He's not who we thought he was, Dean."

"I don't understand."

"Yeah. Well that makes two of us."

"Do you really think Dad is coming?"

Caleb remembered what Sid had told Griffin. Something was up. He hoped it was the rescue he'd been praying for. "I do."

Dean weakly shoved at the covers, trying to sit up. "We need to …"

Caleb stopped him with a hand to his chest. "The only thing you need to do is rest."

"But…"

"Deuce, listen to me."

"But Dad will…" Dean's words were cut off by a painful round of coughing.

The sound or perhaps Dean's distress woke the other boy and Sam quickly sat up. He reached out to grab his brother's arm. "Dean?"

"I'm…okay." Dean held a hand to his chest, the other tightly twisted in the sheets. "Okay."

Sam's frightened eyes went to Reaves. "Caleb?"

"Everything's going to be all right, Sammy." The lie rang hollow. Nothing was going right and all three of them knew it. The hopeful gazes leveled on Caleb were lead boots dragging him beneath the wave of despair.

He was momentarily saved from drowning by the entrance of Mathews and Sid. Caleb whirled towards the door, placing himself between the new threat and the boys. He was tired of the whole busting in the room scenario. It was like being stuck in a version of Ground Hog Day, the Bill Murray movie where the same damn thing kept happening over and over again.

"Bring the boys, we're moving out," Mathews announced with a wave of his gun.

"What?" Caleb frowned. "What do you mean we're moving out?"

"He means we're going on a hike through the woods, Red Riding Hood." Sid grinned. "Now shut your trap, put your ass in gear and grab Hansel and Gretel."

Caleb glanced to the boys and then to Mathews. He felt his heart jumping in his chest. "The Triad's coming, aren't they?"

Mathews shifted. "You know I'm not very patient, Reaves."

Caleb took a step forward, keeping his gaze locked with the dark-haired man. Along with his own hope, Caleb had felt something from Mathews. There was fear and regret; but he'd also sensed a twinge of remorse…compassion. "Let them stay here. It's fucking freezing outside. You know Dean's sick-too sick to be out in this weather. You'll still have me for a hostage. I'll come freely and not cause any trouble."

"No!" Dean and Sam echoed from behind him.

He turned a fierce gaze on both of them. Caleb pointed his finger for the boys to stay on the bed. "Hush!"

"That's not how Griffin wants it."

"And Griffin has to get his way?" Caleb turned to face the henchmen. "At what cost, Mathews? A life? Two lives? When does the price of your misguided loyalty become too high?"

"Enough with the whining!" Sid snapped. He leveled his gun on the children. "If you're so concerned for the brats' health I would start moving a little faster and whining a little less."

Caleb continued to look at Mathews, silently trying one last time. 'Please. Don't do this.'

Mathews shook his head. "Do as he says, Caleb. Now."

"Damn you!" Reaves shouted, feeling more helpless than he could ever remember. He glared at Sid, considering every option available to him.

Mathews must have read _his_ mind. "If something happens to you, Reaves who's going to watch out for them?"

Caleb swallowed thickly, pulled his eyes from Sid's smirking face. He didn't look at Mathews again, instead turning to the boys. He took a breath and forced a calmness he didn't feel into his words. "Okay, guys. We're getting the hell out of here."

"Where are we going?" Sam asked.

Reaves shrugged, kneeling down in the floor to retrieve the boys' shoes. He grabbed Sam and pulled him close to him. "It doesn't matter, Sammy. We're going there together."

Caleb quickly maneuvered Sam's sock-covered feet into the sneakers. "Remember how to tie them?"

Sam nodded. "Dean taught me."

Caleb forced a smile. "Of course he did." He glanced to the older Winchester and winked. "Your big brother learned the first time I showed him. Of course that was only last year…"

The tactic worked and Dean's mouth twitched. "I…was five."

"And on your way to failing that particular kindergarten skill if I remember correctly," Caleb told him as he slipped Dean's Converses on his feet. "You'd been destined to wear Velcro for life if it weren't for me."

"This is all very touching, but it's not getting us out of here any faster!" Sid snapped. He had moved closer to them. "Maybe I should help things along?"

Caleb stood and blocked the man. "Touch either one of them and I will shred what little mental faculties you have left, Sid, so that your buddy Mike has to hire someone to feed you and wipe your ass."

Sid's face hardened, but he hesitated. "Griffin and the others are right outside the door."

Caleb stood his ground and noticed Mathews wasn't interceding. "They won't be fast enough to save you." When Sid didn't move, Caleb nodded. "You're smarter than you look."

He turned and pulled his flannel shirt off, sliding it over Sam's shoulders. "Put this on, Runt." Neither boy had a coat and Caleb suspected no one was going to offer theirs.

"But what about you?" Sam asked, sliding his arms into the too-long sleeves.

"I'll be fine. Hiking always makes me hot."

Dean's too-knowing eyes were locked on him once more and Caleb offered another lop-sided grin. "I can't take being much hotter than I am, Deuce. Neither can the women."

"I…don't want to go."

The words shook Caleb's resolve and he faltered for a second. It was such a typical whiny-ass kid protest that Reaves almost wanted to laugh. Dean never acted like a normal kid and the one time he did, Caleb couldn't cater to him. "I know. But suck it up, kiddo."

Dean's eyes glistened with unshed tears and Caleb felt his whole body quake. "Yes, sir."

Reaves grabbed two blankets. He tossed one to Sam and wrapped the other securely around Dean. "I'll make this up to you. I swear."

"Not your fault."

The absolution mixed bitterly with the hoarse and weary tone. Caleb sighed. "Doesn't seem to matter."

Reaves wasn't sure the ten-year-old heard him until Dean's green gaze met his once more. "It does to us."

"Let's move, Reaves." Sid stepped back and motioned the trio towards the door.

Caleb scooped up Sam and took Dean's hand. "What about Dr. Griffin?" Sam asked as they made their way to the front of the cabin. "Is he coming?"

Dean stumbled over his own feet and Caleb had to tighten his grip to keep the boy moving. He glared at Mathews who was watching their progress with a detached look. "Oh, he'll be coming with us, Sammy."

"But where are we going?"

"To where the bears sleep, Samuel. Won't that be fun?"

Griffin was waiting on them in front of the roaring fire. He was decked out in winter gear, as was Mike.

"Bears?" Dean croaked, moving closer to Caleb.

Griffin smiled his enigmatic grin and came closer to the boy. "A phobia?"

Caleb draped his arm over Dean's shoulder. "The kid has a Goldilocks Complex. Does it get him out of going?"

Porter laughed. "I'm afraid not. Dean is an important person. He needs to come along."

Reaves clenched his jaw. "You said the boys weren't a threat to you."

"They're not."

"Then why make this harder than it has to be? They should stay here. They'll only slow down your escape." Caleb knew reasoning with the man was probably impossible, but he held out hope that beneath the cold veneer there was a man worthy of a ring-a man once deserving of Jim Murphy's friendship.

Griffin shook his head. "This is not an escape, Caleb."

Reaves brow furrowed. "Then why the hell are you dragging us out into the storm? If you're not running from the Triad…" It was more deception. "You're leading them into a trap. You never wanted to make a deal."

"That's not true." Mathews entered the conversation, denying what Caleb had read from Griffin. The other psychic hadn't bothered to shield his traitorous plan from Reaves. He wanted Caleb to know what was in store for him-for the boys even as he continued to hide it from Mathews.

Porter held up a hand to stop his friend's defense. "Save your breath for the hike, Jarrett. Caleb is not as smart as he likes to think. I'd wager he gets that from his father."

Caleb didn't rise to the bait. Instead he focused on breathing to keep the panic at bay. John would find a way to get them out of this.

"We'll go now." Griffin nodded for Mike to pick up their gear and Sid brushed past them to open the door.

"The boys don't have coats." Caleb said matter-of-factly, determined to keep the tremble out of his voice. "Dean can barely stay vertical. Sam won't be able to walk long in this snow."

Griffin glanced at Mike, who offered up his own knit hat and scarf. "Take these."

Caleb stared at the man for a moment before accepting the items. He placed the hat on Sam and handed the scarf to Dean. "You guys are a bunch of saints."

"The trip won't be that long." Griffin nodded his head to Dean. "If you want, I can make the boy more comfortable. I'm no healer, but the mind can trick the body into believing wondrous things."

Caleb hesitated, a part of him anxious to help Dean in anyway even if it meant making a deal with the devil. Yet that 'protect Deuce' part was howling in protest. He glanced at Dean who was looking up at him and felt the boy's fingers clutch his. Caleb returned his gaze to Griffin. "Do it."

"Caleb?" Sam's hesitant voice brushed against the eighteen-year-old's cheek.

Reaves hefted him higher, holding him tighter. "It's okay, Runt."

Sam watched the doctor tend to his brother before leaning his face close to Caleb's once more. "Is Griffin not our friend anymore?" he whispered.

"No." Caleb felt the moment Dean's pain disappeared. He squeezed the ten-year-old's hand and lowered his voice. "He never was our friend, Sammy."

RcJ


	9. Chapter 9

Paper Tiger

Chapter 9

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Thanks to Tidia for revising and then re-revising this chapter and for keeping me from picking at the poor thing anymore. Sigh. There should be another couple of chapters to go-this has become the biggest prologue in history! Thanks to all of those still reading and reviewing.

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_In each human heart are a tiger, a pig, an ass and a nightingale. Diversity of character is due to their unequal activity.  
Ambrose Bierce _

A simultaneous breach of the building was decided upon after a sweep of the perimeter and a short stake out showed no movement in or around the area. John and his team took the side entrance to Griffin's cabin as Jim and the others stormed the front. Penetrate and neutralize was the plan.

"Goddamnit!" John Winchester yelled as he stormed through the rooms one by one. The hunters' entrance had been anti-climactic and unsatisfying to say the least. Infiltration of an empty building was always a sure fire way to kill an adrenaline high, and it had cruelly dashed their hopes. He turned to Harland and Silas. "Spread out and see what the hell you can find."

"What are they thinking?" Mackland queried softly, walking around the room. Ames stopped at two straight back chairs in the center and let his fingers trace over them. Ropes still dangled from the wooden slats and the doctor knelt on the floor. He lifted the rough fibers when he noticed blood stains smeared on them. "Where would they have gone? It makes no sense to abandon shelter in this type of weather."

"Unless they knew we were coming." Bobby growled. "But how in the hell would they have known?"

John moved to the fireplace where Jim was standing with a contemplative expression. "Jim?"

"I was merely thinking they couldn't have been gone long. The fire is still warm and I smelled coffee when we came in."

"Cigars, too," Bobby added. "Somebody was smoking the good stuff."

"Cubans." Harland reentered the room carrying several objects. "Griffin gets them from some colleague," the blond hunter explained. "He always has a stash of them closeby."

"That tells us that someone was definitely here-but not who."

"I'm guessing the boys were." Harland held out the stuffed dinosaur and a few storybooks. "These were tossed on one of the beds. Both looked to have been slept in recently."

"Caleb was here." Mackland spoke up, his eyes searching out John. "This is his blood."

Winchester looked down at The Scholar, his dark features growing grimmer. "How do you know, Mac? 'Sensing' things isn't exactly your area of expertise?"

Ames shook his head, continuing to run the rope through his fingers. "This is a physical object with his blood. It works like any number of weapons, articles of soiled clothing or blankets I've studied to find other victims."

John's frown deepened. "You saw Caleb?"

Mac hesitated. "Not exactly." Ames rubbed his forehead as he slowly stood. "My abilities still aren't working like they normally do, but there's an impression." He gripped the rope tighter. "He's been here and he's still nearby."

"Are the boys with him?" John asked, stepping closer to the doctor. He tried to hide the desperation in his voice, but the look his friend gave him spoke to his success. "Did you get any feeling about them?"

"I'm sorry, Johnathan. It doesn't work like that. I pick up sensations mostly." Mackland sighed wearily. "Cold. Exhaustion." He met John's gaze again. "Fear. I could try with the stuffed toy and the books Harland found, but I'm guessing it will be the same thing."

"Damnit!" Winchester raked a hand over his beard. "What the fuck are we going to do now?"

They all turned as Silas entered the cabin, shaking snow from his hair. "I found some ATVs out back, but none of them look to have been used recently. They must have headed out on foot because the terrain from here up is pretty treacherous."

Mackland raised a brow. "Another foolhardy move?"

"Or so they would have us think." The Guardian stepped forward his gaze locked on Ames. "Can you at least use the rope to track them, Mackland? Sort of like a divining rod pointing us in the right direction?"

The doctor sighed. "Possibly. I've found burial and drop sites that way before."

"You better hope this is one of those cases, Doc." Silas interrupted. "With the way that snow is coming down and the number of trails leading from here, even with daylight on our side a search could easily turn into a 'needle in the haystack'."

"It will work." Jim squeezed Mackland's shoulder, gave one final look to the cabin and then started for the door. "Let's head out, boys."

John cleared his throat when Mackland remained frozen in place, his eyes locked on his hands. "Caleb's a trained soldier." Winchester glanced to the rope curled around the doctor's fist. "He can handle himself. And take care of the boys." He lowered his voice when his friend didn't react. "It's not a lot of blood, Mac."

Ames looked up, as unsettled as John had seen him. "He may be a soldier in your war, but he's my eighteen-year-old son, John," he hissed. "Any spilled blood is too damn much in my book."

Winchester nodded. Whether Mackland believed him or not, he understood-felt the same way. "My sons are out there too. And we're going to get them all back in one piece and home before Christmas."

After a moment Ames's mustache twitched. "Now everybody's a goddamn psychic."

John snorted. "Let's just hope Bobby doesn't get any active abilities or Sawyer's in big trouble. I get a feeling Sawyer doesn't like him much."

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It didn't take Caleb long to realize they were in big trouble. He was having a hard time ignoring the cold bite of the wind and the wet flakes penetrating his thin layers of clothing. He stopped feeling his fingers not long after leaving the cabin. His feet sank in the snow with each step, and he had to concentrate to keep from falling. Although he could feel Sam trembling against him, he hoped the kid was at least absorbing some warmth from their close proximity. Dean was fairing much worse.

Even with Caleb pulling him along in his footsteps, the kid was stumbling and gasping for breath. Griffin had used the 'whammy' on Dean, but the ten-year-old's body wasn't fooled. Dean might not be feeling the effects of the sickness plaguing him, but he was suffering the side effects just the same. They wouldn't last much longer. When Dean started to cough, Caleb couldn't suffer in silence any longer.

"How much further?" Reaves demanded, drawing up short and readjusting Sam on his hip. The five-year-old kept his face buried against Caleb, hiding as best he could from the wind and the snow. Dean leaned against his leg to keep from falling over as more coughs wracked his weakened body. "We've been walking for almost an hour." Caleb wasn't sure it had actually been that long but under the circumstances the estimation felt more than justified. "The boys can't take much more of this."

Griffin and Mathews paused. They were in the lead, with Sid and Mike bringing up the rear. Caleb learned by listening to their conversation that Louis and the mysterious others working for Team Griffin had returned to the town to await further instruction. He assumed Griffin wanted as few witnesses as possible to his 'actual' plan. "The human body is an amazing machine. It can withstand grueling tasks."

Caleb relished the heat that flared through his body at Griffin's comment. "Says the bastard who's wearing a hooded down parka, gloves and snow boots; looking as if he's just blown in from a ski slope at Aspen."

"Anger is an excellent motivator." Porter replied, no hint of shame in his voice. "Use it to fuel you this last little stretch."

"The only motivation I need is seeing John take you apart."

Griffin laughed and marched back to the younger psychic. "You have such faith in The Knight. A Knight who was chosen because Daniel Elkins went insane and no one else was prepared to fill the role." Porter's nose flared. "Unless of course you count Bobby Singer, who actually declined to be considered because of some misguided loyalty to Elkins and the fact he has the maturity level of young Samuel."

"John Winchester is a hero."

"Yeah!" Sam lifted his head long enough to glare at Porter. "Don't talk about my daddy."

"Griffin, we're wasting time." Mathews pointed out, gesturing to Dean. "The children need to be out of the weather."

Dean accentuated the point by starting to cough again. He dropped the blanket he was holding and sank to his knees in the snow.

Caleb quickly reacted, sitting Sam down and kneeling beside the other child. "Deuce?"

Dean lifted his head, his eyes watering from the cold wind and the strain. "I'm sorry…Caleb I can't walk anymore."

"I can walk now." Sam offered, his hand going to his brother's head. "Caleb can carry you."

"I'll carry him." Mathews stepped forward, looking down at Dean. "Mike can carry Sam."

The five-year-old clung closer to Reaves. "No. I'll walk."

Caleb carefully pulled Dean to his feet, steadying him with a firm grip. He glared up at Mathews. "Don't do us any fucking favors. I'll take care of both of them." He looked back at the hired thugs, reclining against a tree, watching the scene with a sense of boredom. "I wouldn't let those pieces of shit carry our fucking gear."

"We'll be the ones toting your frozen corpse off this mountain, Reaves," Sid called out, having heard the psychic's declaration.

Caleb ignored him, locking gazes with Dean instead. "Can you manage a piggy-back carry, Deuce?"

The kid nodded, taking a wheezing breath. "Think so."

"At least take this." Mathews had taken his own parka off, and held it out to Caleb. "Don't let pride keep you from doing what's best for them."

Reaves jerked the jacket from Jarrett and knelt in front of Dean again. "Put this on, Dean."

The boy shook his head, shoving the jacket away. "But Sammy…"

"Has my jacket and has been sponging off my body heat for the last hour." Caleb looked at the youngest Winchester. "And he's got that Mercury Mojo going on." He winked at Sam. "Ain't that right, Runt?"

Sam nodded. "I'm not sick neither."

Reaves swallowed thickly. He didn't call Sam 'Tiny Einstein' for nothing. Caleb looked at Dean again. "You're wearing it, Dean. That's an order."

Dean allowed Caleb to help him into the jacket. "Whatever," he muttered when Reaves bent closer to zip the coat.

Caleb's gold gaze rose in surprise, and he felt another twinge of hope at the typical smart-mouthed reply. He pulled the hood up over Dean's head and laid a hand briefly against the boy's flushed face. "That's 'whatever, **Sir**' to you, Private."

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"This isn't some military march on an enemy encampment." Harland Sawyer grumbled under his breath as he and Silas trudged through the snow, trailing behind The Triad and Singer. "I can't believe he ordered us to bring up their 'sixes' like a couple of privates. "

Fox cast him a disbelieving glance. "That is exactly what this is, Harland. Whoever took those boys is serious. John is right to be cautious and to follow protocol."

"Don't tell me you're buying into the Winchester fan club, Si? The man has no right…"

"Not that again." Fox shook his head, glancing towards the men in front of them to make sure they were out of earshot. "How many times are you going to flail that dead horse? I don't care for Winchester either, but what's done is done. Jim Murphy made his decision years ago."

"Time doesn't change that it was the wrong one."

"I understand that but there are lives at stake. Our first priority is to save people. What if Joshua was missing?"

"Come on, Si." Harland rolled his eyes. "Do you honestly think The Guardian would be hiking through a snowstorm in the middle of nowhere if _my_ son were missing? Hell, he just gave Joshua his ring last month. I don't think he'd go out of his way to recover him from a group of rebels."

Silas frowned. "Rebels?"

Harland exhaled heavily. "Rebels…lunatics, what's the difference?"

"The difference is I've heard you use that term before." Fox stopped and narrowed his gaze. "The last time we hunted with Fisher and Ian. You all were whispering about a rebellion-talking about some sort of shake-up."

"I was blowing off steam."

"I hope so." Silas glanced towards The Triad again. "Because I would hate to think you would ever be involved with a plan that would target innocent children despite its goal."

Harland smiled. "You know me. I love kids."

Fox licked his lips nervously. "Right. You're practically Ward Fucking Cleaver." He turned to start back up the trail when Sawyer reached out and stopped him.

"But just so we're clear on this, Silas, there's nothing innocent about Ames's kid."

Fox pulled away. "And just so you know, Harland, it was exactly that kind of thinking that kept Joshua from getting his ring. Make sure it doesn't get yours taken away."

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"We could at least build a fire." As Griffin promised they reached the cave relatively quickly. Jarrett looked towards the mouth of their hiding place where he could see Caleb crouched with both boys. Despite being out of the wind and the falling snow, the temperatures were still freezing. He'd witnessed Dean's decline the last leg of the trip. Reaves's brave front was beginning to crumble also, exhaustion and exposure wearing on him. "The Winchester child is worse."

Griffin glanced up from the tin cup he was filling with coffee from a thermos he'd retrieved from his pack. "And why don't we just call The Triad and give away our location while we're at it, Jarrett?"

"You're not concerned with alerting The Triad, you're doling out more punishment."

Porter rolled his eyes. "If I wanted to punish them I'd have tied them up outside."

"I'm surprised you didn't. Perhaps even used them as bait in some type of snare?"

"So now you're listening to the boy?"

"That boy is not what I imagined." Mathews had fought it, but watching Caleb Reaves protect and care for the Winchesters over their time together had worn away at his preconceived notions. "I'm not sure my own boys would have acted as honorably."

"Honorable? Perhaps you should take your coat back from the child. I think you're suffering hypothermic confusion."

"He has the qualities of a Knight, Griffin. He reminds me of Maxim. Julian would have approved. Even you can't deny that."

"Yes. Of course he's brave and valiant with the added bonus of being part demon."

"You don't know that for sure. No one does. Who is to say what a possessed human can pass to its offspring? Even those we've encountered that have been tainted by demon blood aren't necessarily turned evil by it."

"But they have unusual and powerful abilities."

"And you don't? Elijah doesn't?" Mathews shook his head. "Does that mean that somewhere throughout your lineage and mine there was something or someone supernatural in the mix?"

"Not all paranormal abilities are tainted. The brain is an amazing and complex organ capable of things man has not even begun to uncover."

"That is exactly my point. How can you be so certain that Caleb's abilities are not as much a gift as yours or my son's? Perhaps he was destined to be in The Brotherhood. Not all hunters have been born into this calling as you are well aware."

"And perhaps he was destined to destroy it!" Griffin's gaze darkened. "Your son's abilities are not even in the same league with Reaves's, and he hasn't even discovered how to use them to their full strength yet."

"So you want to stop him before he does? My God, Griffin, you **are** planning on killing him?"

"No." Porter denied. "At this very moment, James is making his way up this mountain, risking his own welfare to ensure the safety of three boys he has no blood bond to. He's The Guardian-he should know better."

"So, you're doing this to put Jim in his place? Is that what you wanted?" Mathews lowered his voice. "Or are you planning on doing away with him all together, Griffin?"

Porter said nothing.

"Answer me, goddamnit! I deserve to know the truth. Are you planning to kill Jim Murphy?"

"Griffin's going to kill Pastor Jim?"

Sam Winchester's frightened voice carried through the cave and Jarrett heard Caleb shushing the boy.

Matthews continued to hold Porter's unwavering gaze. He took a deep breath, stood straighter. "Not if I can help it."

"What do you think you're going to do, Jarrett?"

"You're the psychic, Griffin. Read my mind."

Jarrett didn't give the scientist time to reply before turning and making his way towards their captives. He knelt in front of Caleb.

Sid had cruelly tied the teen's hands and feet, despite the opportunity for escape. Sam and Dean were huddled next to him both sharing the coat Mathews had sacrificed. The youngest Winchester glared at him, but Dean seemed too out of it to acknowledge his presence. "You were right. I was a damn fool."

"First the coat and now a confession." Reaves's voice broke slightly, his body betraying him and shaking from the involuntary shivering. "You ever heard the expression 'too little-too late'?"

"Remember what I said about that pride, Caleb."

Reaves snorted. "So you're sorry. That's not going to keep us from freezing to death or Dean from …" Caleb clamped his mouth together and looked away from Mathews.

"I'm not offering an apology. I'm getting you and the boys out of here."

"We're going home?" Sam asked, hopefully. "We're going to save Dean and Pastor Jim?"

Caleb flicked his gaze to Griffin who was watching them, but hadn't moved closer. "But Griffin…"

"Has done enough damage."

Reaves frowned. "He won't let us walk away."

Mathews cast a quick glance over his shoulder and then pulled a knife from his boot. "I wasn't planning on asking his permission."

He sliced the ropes binding Caleb's feet and then freed his hands. The teen didn't move for a moment, his gaze still focused over Jarrett's shoulder. "I don't think you realize what you're doing."

Jarrett squeezed his shoulder, waited for Reaves to look at him. He offered a faint smile. "Yes, I do." He glanced to Dean. "For the first time in a long while, I know exactly where I stand."

"But…"

"Take care of the boys." Mathews lowered his voice. "I'll take care of the rest."

Caleb stiffly made it to his shaky knees. He picked up Dean, tucked the down jacket around him and grabbed Sam's hand. "Come on, Runt, we're getting out of here."

Sam stood and followed Caleb's lead.

"Jarrett?"

Mathews ignored Griffin's voice, pushing Caleb on in front of him. He didn't look back.

"What's going on?" Sid asked. He had been standing watch in the small grove of trees off to their right. "I thought we were holing up here?"

"Plans have changed." Mathews jutted his chin towards the trail where he knew Mike was standing sentry. "You and your associate's services are no longer needed. You'll receive your payment in the mail."

"That's not what we agreed upon." Sid glanced towards the cave. "What about the weapons?"

"What weapons?"

"The magical ones."

"So Griffin told you about that, did he?"

"I heard you two talking and called him on it."

Now everything was making sense. Mathews motioned for Caleb to keep moving as he took the long steps that would bring him face to face with the hired henchman. "You're a bigger fool than I am, Sid. You heard what he wanted you to hear. Griffin's really good at that." Porter had been dangling a carrot in front of Sid, to what means Jarrett didn't even want to fathom.

"He and I made a deal."

"Griffin is also good at ignoring the finer points of those." Mathews turned to follow after the boys; more certain than ever he was doing the right thing.

The crack of the gun exploded in the quiet forest, violating the deceptive peacefulness.

Sam yelped and Dean jerked in Caleb's arms as the young hunter whirled around at the sound of the shot. Reaves turned in time to see Mathews stagger slightly and then drop boneless to the ground. "Shit," he gasped, stumbling back. Caleb cupped Sam's head, drawing him closer to his side, shielding him from the gory sight as Sid expertly swung his weapon to cover them.

"Your turn, freak."

"Caleb!"

"Jarrett!"

The voices of Jim Murphy and Griffin Porter rang out around him along with another round of gunfire. Caleb dropped to the ground taking Dean and Sam with him. He folded his body tightly over the two boys and anticipated the fiery pain of a bullet, praying his last act would at least offer some type of shield to the Winchesters.

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An ominous sound of gunfire had propelled Jim Murphy the last few feet of his journey. The Guardian crested the top of the ridge to find a nightmarish scene unfolding. Caleb was standing in the falling snow holding Dean in his arms, Sam at his side. They were out in the open, defenseless and in the target of another man Jim didn't recognize. In fact, all Murphy saw was the gun trained on the boys-_his_ boys.

Even as he brought his rifle up and shouted Caleb's name, he knew he would never be quick enough. The enemy had already drawn a bead, finger tightening on his trigger. Jim was about to watch another person he loved die and was powerless to stop it.

Then from out of nowhere Griffin Porter's voice rang out along with the sharp retort of a handgun. Caleb went down, taking the Winchesters with him. Jim's heart momentarily stopped. He blinked, and watched the enemy fall also, a swath of red spreading across the unknown man's chest-a stunned expression registering on his face.

Jim's feet started forward before his brain could even issue the command. He spared a glance to the dead man. Somewhere in the back of his mind Murphy registered the fact the assailant was dressed similarly to the one John had silently taken out on the trail below them. Another body was face down between the kidnapper and the boys. Blood was everywhere. Jim prayed none of it was from one of his own.

"Boys?" He knelt in the snow, rested his rifle in the crook of one arm. His hand went to the Caleb's shoulder. "Are you all okay?"

"Thank God you showed when you did, James." Griffin's quiet voice broke. "The bastard shot Jarrett. He's dead, James. Jarrett Matthews is dead."

"Jim?" John Winchester called out. He was only moments behind the pastor, having left the others to flank the area. He had taken care of the man they'd encountered on the trail, but had missed the climax. Mackland had rejoined him only a few steps behind. John held his own weapon at the ready, covering Porter whose gun now dangled loosely in his grasp.

Jim stayed focused on the boys, knowing The Knight would cover them. "Boys?" He tried again.

"Jim." Caleb uncurled his body and sank back on his haunches. Dean was still held protectively against his chest, and Sam was tucked behind him. "Griffin…in on it."

"What?" Jim was still trying to convince himself the boys were not fatally injured. Dean wasn't moving, Sam was covered in snow, shivering, but blinking owlishly up at him. "I…"

"He wants to kill you, Jim," Caleb said emphatically. His glassy gaze moved from Murphy to the tall black man standing behind him. "_He_ did this."

"James_, I_ just saved the boys…He's ill. Suffering from hypothermia and in shock."

"Caleb?" John moved closer to them, gripping his own weapon tighter as he let his gaze go to his children. Mackland echoed the same movement.

"Johnny…" Caleb breathed, shaking his head. "Dean's sick. Real sick. We need to help him. But I swear I'm not lying."

Jim clasped a hand around the boy's neck, could feel the fierce shivering wracking his body. He shot a quick glance to John and then looked at Caleb. "No one thinks you're lying, my boy."

Murphy turned his gaze to Griffin, Duran's warning from his deceased mentor Julian ringing in his ears. 'Et tu Brute'. Jim looked to the dead body of Jarrett Mathews and then to his old friend. Hunters had been a part of this scheme-his own men. "Put your gun down, Griffin."

"But James…"

"Do as he says, Porter!" John snarled, and pointed at The Scholar to go and help the boys.

Mackland made his way closer to the group, his wary gaze taking in the Mexican standoff situation.

Bobby, Harland and Silas appeared with guns drawn to back up John.

"Stay where you are, Mackland, Bobby," Jim ordered, standing and placing himself between Griffin, Caleb and the Winchesters. Nerves were spread too thin, worry making the situation beyond explosive. John would easily react to the stress; eliminate the source of the threat. As much as Jim might agree with The Knight on a personal level, he had the responsibility of resolving things as The Guardian. "Griffin. No one else need die today."

Porter looked to the fallen form of Jarrett Mathews, hesitated, and then glanced to Murphy. He lowered his gun and John took it from him. "I didn't know the bastard would kill Jarrett."

"No. You just wanted him to hurt Dean…to kill me!" Caleb snapped, trying to make his way to his feet. "Just so you could get to Jim."

"I…" Porter started, but Jim shook his head, cutting off anything the man was going to say.

The Guardian looked at the bodies and then to Harland and Silas. "I want this situation neutralized. Take Mathews's body back to Griffin's cabin. Erase any trace of what took place here."

"Yes, Sir."

"I will escort Griffin myself."

The Knight's gaze went to Caleb, his boys and then to Jim. "Maybe I should…"

"You should be with your sons." Jim's tone left no room for disagreement. "Besides, my old friend and I have matters to discuss."

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Mackland wasted no time in making his way to his son's side as soon as the situation was under control. "Caleb!" He rested a hand on the teen's head, brushing the cold, wet hair from his face. The boy's skin was like ice. He noticed Sam shivering beside the teen. "Samuel? Are you okay?" The five-year-old nodded solemnly. "Dean?" Mackland pulled off his gloves, laying his fingers on the unresponsive child's neck. He let out a quick breath as he found a pulse. "Thank God."

"Dad." Caleb sluggishly turned to his father and then glanced down to Dean. "Deuce's sick."

"Okay, Son." There were numerous cuts and bruises littering Caleb's face as well as a nasty gash on his forehead. He and Sam were both shaking and Mackland felt a surge of anger and murderous rage threaten to overwhelm him. It was rare to feel thwarted by his own emotions and the doctor had to remind himself he would do no one any good if he couldn't remain in control. "I'm going to take care of him."

The teen pulled away from his father's ministrations, clutching the sleeping child in his arms tighter to him. "No…you don't know. It was a cold… but worse. And his hand's burned and…"

"And now he won't wake up," Sam added when Caleb faltered. The youngest Winchester shook his brother's shoulder with no result. "Fix him, Mac," he demanded for both of them.

"I will, Samuel. Trust me."

Bobby Singer dropped to his knees by Mackland, stripped off his jacket and grabbed a reluctant Sam. He pulled him out of the doctor's way, wrapped the boy in the coat and zipped it. "They're fucking freezing."

Mackland spared him a glance, which spoke volumes about the unnecessary assessment before removing his own coat and draping it over Caleb. He hadn't missed the way his son was slightly slurring his words or the glassy, dazed expression on his face. All of the boys were suffering from exposure. "We need to get them out of this storm."

"Mac? How's Dean?" John kneeled in the snow, his hands resting on his eldest's pale cheek.

"I'm not sure yet." Mackland glanced to John and then to Dean again. The ten-year-old's lips were thinned and tinged blue. Caleb said Dean had started out with a cold. John had mentioned the boys being sick earlier, which could mean Dean might have anything from a bad case of bronchitis to pneumonia. He took the child's pulse, and then with a frown laid his ear against the little boy's chest. "His respiration is compromised." He met Caleb's worried gaze. "Son, let me take Dean."

Caleb looked from his father to his mentor and shook his head. A hint of panic surged in the young hunter's gold eyes. "I'm sorry…I tried to take care of them."

"Hey, take it easy." John shot the doctor a concerned look, moved his hand to the teen's neck and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You did good. We'll take it from here, kiddo."

Mackland continued his cursory assessment, torn between the idea of having Bobby build a fire and the fact that providing some temporary warmth would do little to ease Dean's ills. They had been prepared for war wounds not a childhood illness.

"I promised him you'd come," Caleb continued on, watching his father check Dean over.

John nodded. "We got him now." Winchester managed to pry Dean from the teen's grasp and passed him to Mackland. "You can stand down."

John's words did the trick and Caleb let the child go. His gaze momentarily flickered to his father. "I'm sorry…"The teen's eyes rolled back in his head and he would have slumped to the ground if John hadn't seen the collapse coming.

"Caleb!" Sam cried and tried to wriggle out of Bobby's strong grasp.

"Easy there, tiger. Your daddy and Mac got this covered. "

"Damn it!" Ames growled. He could not divide his attention between Dean and Caleb. Dean was obviously in need of immediate care. "Johnathan, keep him warm." He nodded to Caleb. Ames was not feelin as competent as Bobby's assurances conveyed. Mackland stood, hefting Dean up with him. Field triage was not going to be enough for the situation at hand. "We have to go now!"

Winchester pulled one of Caleb's arms across his shoulder and struggled to get the kid on his feet. "Bobby, use the ranger's frequency. Tell them to have an ambulance waiting for us at the trailhead. We can use the ATVs Silas found at Griffin's cabin to cut down on the time."

"It's still going to take too damn long, Johnathan," Mackland bit out, feeling the weight of the unresponsive child against his chest and the heaviness of his own son's fate on his shoulders. "This should not be happening."

"But it is." John turned his fiery gaze to where Griffin Porter stood, his hands now tied in front of him. "And we know exactly who to blame for it." John looked at his pallid son. "We're going to make it through this just to spite him."

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	10. Chapter 10

Paper Tiger Chapter 10

Beta: Tidia

A/N: As always a huge thank you to those who have shared their kind thoughts and suggestions for this story! I can't say it enough how much they do mean to me. A special thanks to Tidia for helping me with this chapter which I started out struggling with; but ended up enjoying despite myself. Also a shout out to Letting the rain in who mentioned in her story Forgotten how Dean might have first called Caleb 'Damien'. It resounded so much with me that I stole it! I had to tweak the age to fit our timeline in the A.U. but I wanted to give her credit for that lovely idea.

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**Tiger**

Once leader of the pride  
Respect he could demand  
Now sleeps amidst the grasses  
Of dry and baron land

He thrives on what is left  
From the pride he once belonged  
His scars they show the battles  
Of days when he was strong

The ruler of the jungle  
With cubs now still at play  
Will watch them grow and carry on  
To take his place one day

Life was full of choices. Jim Murphy was fond of pointing that out to the boys. Quite often he'd say it to John with a look of desperate hope and more than a hint of wariness. John understood the pastor's concern. The Knight did not always take the time to think things through; instead he reacted based on his feelings.

Case in point, John wanted to kill Griffin.

No interrogation, no time for deliberation. The man had betrayed The Brotherhood-betrayed Jim. He had dared to hurt John's boys; caused his family more pain. It was reason enough to end the man's miserable existence. John had killed for less and hadn't lost sleep over it. Sometimes life called for gut instinct. Thoughtful consideration flew out the window when you were fishtailing on an icy road, especially if everything precious to you was sitting in the fucking backseat.

John didn't know what Jim would do to Porter. Anything short of a painful death would seem too light a sentence as the words _mild and_ _moderate hypothermia_ were tossed out to John at the hospital along with the _pneumonia and pediatrics ICU_.

Choices had followed their arrival to civilization once more. John was torn between staying with Sam, who was being admitted for mild hypothermia and dehydration and staying with Dean who had a flurry of activity swarming him in a manner that set every one of John's parental nerves on edge. Then there was Caleb to consider. The teen had regained consciousness once in the ambulance only to be restrained-bringing up Caleb's previous issues, more taxing than moderate hypothermia and physical trauma he'd sustained.

In the end John had left Bobby to deal with an alert Sam, watched as Mackland and a sea of hospital staff disappeared behind the ominous bay doors with Dean, and planted himself as sentry in the examination area where Caleb was being worked on. Sam was only a few curtains over. John could hear him badgering Bobby about his brother and Caleb. Sometimes it rocked John to his core that his children were so caring-so capable of giving emotions that often seemed lost to him.

"No more restraints!" John snapped, the current threat bringing him from his brooding.

Nurse Helen, despite her earlier kind and genial manner, frowned at Winchester. "Sir, we don't want him pulling out the I.V. or removing the heated oxygen." She gestured to the mask her co-worker had just placed over Caleb's mouth and nose.

John stepped closer to the bed, ignoring the look of irritation the impatient doctor shot him. He met the older physician's gaze. "And I don't want to explain to you again that I don't want him restrained."

"Leave it, Helen."

Winchester watched as Dr. Lyons continued his thorough exam of Caleb's arms and legs. "How's he doing?"

"No signs of frostbite."

"That's good."

Lyons glanced at him. "That's luck." He pulled the blanket up over Caleb with a scowl. "The condition he was in could have easily led to a more serious state. I still want to do an electrocardiogram to make sure his heart is fine and then we'll move him to radiology to examine the abrasions and the ribs. All of this happened from sledding?"

John clenched his teeth. He had already heard the lecture about exposure, inappropriate dress in winter conditions and hazardous games without proper parental supervision. "The boys were out for several hours before we found them."

"And the other boy-your son- was sick before he went out?"

John focused on Caleb again. "I didn't know Dean's cold had gotten that bad. Is my nephew going to be okay?" As usual John used the invented familial relation for their cover story.

"As I explained before his core body temperature was in the moderate stages of hypothermia. Although dangerous, most victims make a complete recovery. Like with your son Sam, we're going to warm Caleb's body slowly, adding a special IV and warmed oxygen to the heated blanket treatment due to his progressed stage."

Caleb stirred restlessly as the nurse inserted the IV port into the teen's hand. "D…ean?" He mumbled and tried to move away from the pain.

"Caleb?" John laid one hand on the teen's head, and used his other to hold the kid still. "You with me?"

Caleb blinked slowly, his head tracking Winchester's voice. "Johnny?" The name was muffled through the mask.

"Yeah. Take it easy, Junior."

Reaves glanced around, his gaze going to the nurse taping the needle in place and then back to John. With a wince he brought his free hand up to shove at the oxygen. "Where's…Dean? Sammy?"

"Leave it." John said firmly, securing Caleb's forearm in his hand, avoiding the teen's bandaged wrist. "Dean and Sam are okay."

"No… they're not." Caleb tried to wriggle away. "We're at the…hospital."

John held firm, glaring at Lyons when the man added his own hands to the situation. "I got this," he told the physician. "Just give me a minute."

The doctor sighed, but conceded. "A minute is all we can spare."

John lowered his voice. "Dean's with your dad. They think he's got a touch of pneumonia, but you know your old man. He'll have him up and around before Christmas."

Caleb ceased struggling. "Sammy okay?"

Winchester forced a weak smile. "Sam's warming up a few beds down from you. Bobby's with him. He was just a little cold and hungry. You did good with him."

"No, I didn't." Caleb shook his head. "You weren't there…you don't know."

"You all made it out alive," John countered. "That's all that matters."

"No…it's not." Caleb became agitated again. "I don't want to do it anymore."

"Do what?" John tightened his grip on the teen's arm. "Watch out for the boys?"

"No." Caleb glanced down at his hand where his ring should have been. It was gone. "Hunt."

"I've got your ring." John caught the teen's glance and patted his pocket. He misinterpreted Caleb's distress. "They removed everything. I'll hold onto it for you."

"Keep it." Caleb looked away. "I don't want it anymore."

The older hunter frowned. Maybe the teen was still confused from the hypothermia. It made people act all kinds of crazy. "Kid…all I heard for four years was you wanting to know when you'd get your damn ring." Caleb rarely missed any opportunity to question his mentor about the momentous day when he would be a full-fledged member of The Brotherhood.

"I…was wrong." Caleb's gaze was watery and full of more emotion than John was used to dealing with. "I don't want to be a hunter and I don't want to be The Knight. Just pick someone else. Pick Joshua. Ian. Anyone but me."

"Caleb…"John shook his head, trying to understand what was going on with the teen. Despite his outward bravado Caleb was quiet when it came to his feelings. He wasn't dramatic, nor did he play guessing games. He was straightforward, said what he meant-even when John didn't want him to. "This wasn't your fault. The boys will be fine."

"This isn't about them." Caleb insisted, his fingers once more going to the mask covering his face.

John stopped him. "Then _what_ is it about?"

"It's about me…and what I am."

John felt his anger rise again, wishing once more he had finished Griffin when he had the chance. "What the hell did Porter say to you?" he growled.

"Nothing." Caleb closed his eyes, shivered. "Nothing… I hadn't heard before."

"We need to take him down to Radiology now, Mr. Winchester."

John wanted to refuse, to reassure Caleb. He was a man of action, not heart to hearts. He would leave the discussion to someone better equipped. John squeezed the teen's shoulder. "Everything's going to be okay, kiddo."

Caleb kept his eyes closed.

Dr. Lyons edged his way around Winchester. "You can wait with your youngest son. We're moving him to pediatrics. We'll send someone in to get you when he's settled. '

"What about my other son?" He wanted to hear something, anything about Dean.

"We'll send someone to talk to you." The doctor dismissed John and hurried along with the gurney.

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"I've spent my entire life thwarting the forces of evil." Griffin Porter's voice rose over the crackle of the fireplace and Jim angled his body towards the other man. "To find myself in this terrible moment."

Griffin's back was to him as he sat hunched over, staring at the unmoving form of Jarrett Mathews residing on the leather couch. Silas and Harland had disposed of Sid and Mike, bringing their fallen brother back to Griffin's cabin with them. Jim and Griffin followed John and the others to the cabin; Murphy staying to oversee things and deal with Porter despite his desire to see the boys at the hospital.

"I've watched so many good men lose their lives," Griffin continued in monotone. "Jarrett deserved better."

Jim wanted to point out that Mike and Sid were not the typical vessels of darkness they dealt with, but other words came out first. "And even more tragic-_I_ have witnessed many good men lose their souls."

Griffin laughed mirthlessly. "I suppose you think I am one of those victims-having started that short trip to hell."

Jim wasn't surprised by the watery, red-rimmed gaze. Griffin had grieved openly for Jarrett but instead of sympathy it evoked anger in The Guardian. "What would you have me think, Griffin?"

Porter looked away. "As if you would listen to what I have to say, old friend. I've been talking to you for years without much success."

"So you decided to take things into your own hands? To betray me?"

"I am a man of great patience; but still just a man."

"Not the man I thought you were."

"We can't all be perfect, James."

"I am far from perfect, Griffin." Jim moved towards the center of the room, stopping in front of the couch. He ran a finger over the silver ring on Mathew's pale hand, feeling the faint thrum of electricity that still weakly pulsed through the priceless ore. "I make mistakes everyday. They come at a costly price."

"Yet, you're willing to cast stones…condemn me."

Jim glared at the other hunter. "For Godsakes, man! You kidnapped children-hurt them. You and you alone have fated yourself to this sentence, Griffin. I have given you every benefit of the doubt."

"Julian fated us to this years ago. He should have never chosen you."

For the first time since leaving the mountain peak Jim witnessed anger flashing in Griffin's brown eyes. "All of this could have been avoided if Julian had seen past his pet paper tiger to the real you-the pathetically weak mouse of a man."

Jim knew Griffin harbored resentment towards him, but had held out hope that with time the man would come to terms with the choices Julian made, and the subsequent ones Jim had set in motion. Time had run out. "I am The Guardian, Griffin. It was not your decision to make all those years ago and it is not for you to judge presently." Jim's eyes narrowed, the blue blazing like fire. "How dare you go against The Code, betray your own in such a manner." The pastor glanced to Jarrett, their silent witness. "You have brought destruction, dishonor, and death to one of your brother's door."

Griffin stood. "I violated The Code?!" Porter's face twisted. "You brought the enemy to our table."

Jim's lips thinned and he took a step closer to Griffin. "You have no one to blame for Jarrett's death but yourself. His children have no father now. Two other men have lost their lives. And don't think I'm not aware that others have tainted themselves by supporting you. You couldn't have pulled this off alone."

"And for what? A coup. Did you truly think you could gain the position of Guardian by possessing a vein of silver, discovering a secret store of weapons? Guardians are not appointed by their predecessors alone, Griffin. They are ordained and accepted by a source you could never begin to understand. They have to be judged worthy by something beyond our realm."

Griffin's stance deflated with the revelation. "I don't understand."

"That's only part of your problem." Jim's face grew grimmer. "A problem too large to be contained within our ranks any longer."

"But I did what I did for The Brotherhood. It's all I know."

"The Brotherhood no longer _knows_ you."

"What?" Griffin's stared at The Guardian. "I was born into The Brotherhood. My family has been linked to it for generations."

"That ends now. From this day you and yours are stripped of all rights and privileges."

Jim focused on the silver band on the psychic's hand. He felt Griffin try to invade his thoughts, reach him telepathically. It was useless. There was a reason The Guardian was protected from such tactics. Jim had nothing to fear from Porter. Murphy closed his eyes as Griffin stared in disbelief.

Porter watched as the silver on his hand shifted, going from its icy platinum color to a murky green and then to blue. In seconds it was a clear as tap water and as pliable. It melted from Griffin's finger, falling like a tear to the ground where it formed a small puddle at Jim's feet.

"No!" Griffin hissed. "That's impossible."

Murphy refocused on the man before him. "I thought the same thing when I realized what you had done."

"I saved Reaves from that heathen Sid."

"A heathen you hired."

"I didn't know what he was capable of."

"Yes, you did."

"But I stopped him from doing the unthinkable."

Jim's solemn gaze returned to Mathews. "No, you didn't. But it is the fact you inadvertently saved those boys that is saving your life."

Griffin recovered from his shock, regained a hint of his smugness. "I have connections and friends in The Brotherhood beyond your scope, James."

"It's true I cannot cut you off completely." Jim glanced to Jarrett once more. "Ethan and Elijah need not be further traumatized by this tragedy." Murphy closed the space between himself and the psychic. "I will not tell them how their father was disgraced by joining in with you. In their minds he will die a hero-and you will be safe from scorn. But if in my lifetime I hear tell of you or any of your 'friends' contemplating such a move as this again…I will not be so tolerant. I will take more than your ring."

"You're threatening me?"

"I just wanted to make one thing clear. I'm no paper tiger, Griffin. I'm a dragon." Jim curled his lip in disgust. "I need not waste any more time with you. There are others far more important than you can ever dream to be."

He left to go to the boys, his boys, the future and hope of The Brotherhood, ceremoniously shedding the old guard.

_RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ_

Caleb was hot. Not the pleasant feeling of warmth like falling asleep on the bank of Jim's pond in the fall sunshine either; but rather the kind of heat the pastor preached about while in one of his fire and brimstone rants. He forced his eyes open, hoping to find some relief, but instead found his father staring anxiously at him. "Hey," he croaked, his throat feeling as if he had swallowed a few charred embers.

"Hey yourself." Mackland smiled at his son. "How are you feeling?"

"A little like a pig roasting over a spit."

"Some overkill is called for in your case." Mackland laid a hand on his son's forehead with the preamble of checking his temperature. "You were nearly frozen."

Caleb frowned. "How are Dean and Sam?"

Mackland stood and retrieved a glass of water from the nightstand. He waited for Caleb to take the offering. "Sam had charmed several of the nurses into playing a rousing game of Candy Land with him when I last checked in."

"And Dean?" Caleb took another cooling sip and then handed the drink to Mackland.

"Is stable." Ames replied. "He's still in ICU, but he's conscious and responding to treatment."

"I want to see him."

"Son, you've just been upgraded to stable. I don't think…"

"There's no difference in me sitting in here and sitting with him."

"John's with him."

"Please, Dad."

"Fine, but I want to talk to you first."

"About what?"

Mackland favored him with a mildly tolerant look. "Caleb."

"You're not The Scholar for nothing, Dad. I'm sure you've got it figured out."

"Indulge me."

"There's not much to tell. Griffin wanted to make a move on Jim and he used me and the boys to do it. I guess I could tell you about the chummy chats we had concerning my lineage. Or maybe you want to hear about how his hired goons hurt Dean so I would tell them something I had no clue about."

Ames took a seat on the edge of his son's bed. "That must have been quite awful for you."

Caleb rolled his eyes. "Really, Dad? You're going to go all therapist on me?" He shook his head. "The only one it was awful for was Deuce."

"You are not to blame for Dean getting hurt. I'm sure the things Griffin said were conjecture and speculation fueled by his dislike of me."

"Right."

"Griffin is a disturbed, sociopathic individual, Caleb."

"You said that about Elkins after he tried to kill me."

"And I was telling the truth."

"Are you going to have everyone who isn't as much a Pollyanna about my future certified as a loony, Mac?"

"If they insist on hurting those I care about and disregarding the very essence of The Brotherhood, then yes." He frowned at his son. "And you know I don't like the term 'loony'."

Caleb's eyes pleaded with his father to understand. "It wasn't just me this time, Dad. Dean and Sammy almost died too."

"Is that why you gave your ring back to John?"

"I don't want to talk about that."

"Son…"

"Dad."

"I want to help you."

"Then let me see Dean." There was nothing Mackland could say to make it all better. The truth was the truth. For better or worse. Caleb was what he was. A tiger was unable to change his stripes.

Mackland sighed, a look of resigned defeat on his weary features. "All right."

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsRcJ

Dean still looked cold. Caleb pulled the blankets up over the boy and claimed the chair by his bed in the ICU unit. John had vacated the seat, using the time to be with his youngest son. Mackland had told him he could stay for twenty minutes only. That was after a quick visit to check in on Sam, who begged tenaciously to come with him. Children were not allowed in ICU, so Caleb had pinky sworn to come back with news after his visit with Dean. If Dean wasn't moved to a regular room soon, then the psychic would find a way to reunite the boys on his own. Rules were pointless. Especially when they could so easily be broken.

Griffin Porter had violated every rule Caleb had drilled in his head over the last five years. Psychic abilities should not be used against humans in any harmful manner or manipulated in such a fashion as to garner an unfair advantage. Human life is valued above all else. The Brotherhood and its members are to be respected, honored, and protected by each brother. All of it pointless. Especially when people were so easily broken.

Caleb ran his finger lightly over the back of Dean's bandaged hand. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and opened himself up to all the feelings stirring within the child. Dean's sleep was light despite the drugs coursing through his system. His breathing although aided by the oxygen canula was hampered and strenuous. He wasn't well and it disturbed Caleb on a level he wasn't comfortable with-too close to the gut-wrenching sensation of grief…death. He couldn't help himself.

"Deuce?" He said quietly while mentally brushing against the younger boy's mind, trying to stimulate his awareness. His desperation to see Dean awake, hear his voice, grew and he pressed on more insistently. "Wake up, Dean."

"Ca…leb?" The kid mumbled, turning his head, but not opening his eyes.

"It's me, Kiddo. Open your eyes."

Dean slowly obeyed the request, blinking blearily at the psychic. Caleb felt guilty for his selfishness, but not so much that he would allow the boy to drift off again. He moved his hand to Dean's head. "Hey, stay awake."

Dean licked his lips, wincing when he swallowed. "Where…"

"We're at the hospital." Caleb forced a grin. "And Sammy's fine. He's torturing Bobby as we speak."

"Dad?"

"With Sam, Mac said I could visit you for bit. He might have dragged your old man to get some coffee too."

"You…okay?" Dean eyed the I.V. pole Caleb was sporting along with the unattractive medical attire.

"Don't worry about me. I'm getting the anti-freeze treatment." Reaves bobbed a brow. "I'm slated for some hot towel time with a cute nurse after I finish this check-up with my second-in-command."

Caleb gave him a scrutinizing once over again. Dean hadn't been completely conscious since their time in the cave. "How you feeling?"

"Warm." Dean frowned.

"That's saying a lot seeing how close you came in looking a little like Frosty." Caleb felt the kid's apprehension. Dean wasn't used to vocalizing his fears. "You're going to be just fine by the way. No toes or fingers falling off. And Mac has his legion of drugs working on taking care of the nasty cold. You'll be good as new by Christmas. Just think of how you can milk this for extra presents."

"What…happened?"

The teen cleared his throat. "The cavalry arrived in the nick of time-just like in the movies." Caleb didn't want to rehash the events. He didn't even want to remember them himself and hoped Dean would stay oblivious to the finer points.

"The bad guys?"

Reaves let his fingers trail through the kid's hair and then removed his touch all together. "Dealt with. You'll never have to see those bastards again."

Dean blinked, obviously fighting hard to hold off the tug of sleep. "Did you kick their asses?"

Caleb looked down at his hands, to his naked ring finger. "Not really." If it had been left up to him they would all be dead. "Deuce…" He met Dean's gaze. "I'm sorry. I know I promised to watch out for you…"

"You do." Dean spoke up. "Me and Sammy."

"I just think…" He thought there had to be someone better at it than him. Someone who wasn't a demon. "I screwed up."

"Did Dad get mad at you?"

Caleb shook his head. For once John had not dressed him down for his shortcomings. Of course the man couldn't really order him to rearrange his DNA, undo his lineage. In all honesty, his mentor never made him feel anything but completely human. "Johnny's not pissed. He's just worried about you and Sammy."

"And you. He worries about you… just doesn't say it."

Caleb looked away. He'd come to make sure Dean was okay, to tell him goodbye, not to be reassured by the sick ten-year-old. It was really pathetic.

"Damien?"

The softly spoken nickname stirred memories of the first time the kid had called him that-an innocent way of understanding what Caleb had in an unguarded moment confessed to the then six-year-old. _'I think I'm a demon.' _

Reaves lifted his hooded gaze, raked a hand over his mouth. "Yeah, kiddo?"

"Will you be here when I wake up?"

Despite Dean's great effort, Caleb could tell the boy was losing the battle with the drugs and fatigue. But it didn't surprise the young hunter that the kid could gage the situation even in his weakened state. He laid a hand on Dean's chest and winked. "I'll be around."

Dean frowned, opened his mouth to say something else, but Caleb stopped him.

"Go to sleep, Deuce. Mac's going to kill me for bothering you as it is."

Dean lifted his hand and placed it over Caleb's. "Tell him I needed you to stay," he said softly, his eyes finally closing.

"He's not the only one who needs you to stay."

"Jim?" Caleb wondered how long the man had stood unnoticed in the small room.

Murphy moved to Dean's bedside, his face as unreadable as his closed off thoughts. "Children are very perceptive. Dean especially."

Caleb gently removed his hand from beneath the ten-year-old's, feeling as if Jim was suddenly capable of reading his mind. Sometimes he wondered what the Guardian was capable of. Caleb could never get a true fix on the man-his thoughts completely unreachable.

"Your father and John are worried."

Caleb exhaled loudly in frustration. "You said we had choices, Jim. I'm making one. I want out."

Murphy sat down at the edge of Dean's bed. He placed a hand on the sleeping boy's leg and rubbed it for a moment. "I want to tell you a story."

Caleb didn't realize Jim was talking to him at first. He rubbed at his weary eyes, wincing as the motion tugged on his IV. "If this is about the whole wolf thing again …"

"Actually, it's about Merlin."

The teen grimaced. "Too late. Griffin already beat you to that punch line."

Murphy frowned. "Griffin's recollection of history is selective. I suspect he left out some vital information."

"No. He was really into sharing." Reaves picked at the IV insertion point for a moment, then stopped.

"Did he tell you that Merlin himself was half demon and half human-a product of the union between incubus and a Godly virgin." Jim waited for the boy to look at him. "They say Merlin struggled with that epic battle of being torn between both worlds. As a child he was almost destroyed by a group of men who did not understand what he was capable of-feared what he might bring about."

Caleb understood where Jim was going. The irony hard to dismiss. "I'm no magician, Jim."

"You're not a monster either."

Frustration edged to anger. He was tired of those closest to him being blinded by their loyalty. It was going to get someone killed. "You don't know that. Griffin said you were betting on a losing team."

"Porter is a narrow-minded bigot who understands nothing of what makes an honorable hunter."

"He was right about my father, Jim!" Caleb snapped. He lowered his voice when Dean shifted in his sleep. "I saw him kill my mom. He loved her and he murdered her."

"But he didn't kill you."

Caleb sighed. "Maybe because that was part of his plan…to carry on his evil seed. What I might do could be a hundred times worse."

"Or maybe he found it within himself to fight whatever was controlling him. Maybe he saw you as his last hope."

Caleb looked at Dean and then back to Jim. "I can't take that risk. And neither should you."

"I would have never have suggested you to John for the position of Knight if I had not had complete faith you would do great things in The Brotherhood…things that have nothing to do with whatever skeletons may be lurking in your family's closet."

Jim held out Caleb's ring. "This belongs to you."

"I don't want to dishonor you or The Brotherhood."

"Caleb, you could never dishonor me."

The ring winked at Caleb under the fluorescent lights, beckoning. He recalled the conversation with Jim after the incident with Ian, Fisher and Joshua. More than anything he wanted to be a part of The Brotherhood, some thing larger than himself so he could undo the damage done by his family.

He met Jim's gaze once more. "What did you do to Griffin?"

Murphy didn't blink. "The worst that I could do."

Caleb nodded, understanding what the pastor was telling him. His gaze returned to the ring and he fought past his fears.

The ring was a promise to be better. He picked it up, clutched it his hand. He would be better-better than Griffin or any other hunter. He would protect his own. Caleb slipped the ring on his finger.

"The best hunters are hunters because they make choices when their faith is tested. But when they return-if they return- their faith is always stronger." Jim placed his hand over Caleb's. The teen felt a strange tingle.

Caleb swallowed. He wondered if there would be other times in the future when he would lose his way along the path. "We don't make this easy for you. You sure you really want us to be a part of The Brotherhood?" Reaves gestured to Dean. "God knows what he and Sam are going to put you through."

Jim smiled a wide, bright grin. "The Brotherhood needs some rabble rousers. Merlin would have expected nothing less. He was an architect, also you know. Designed Camelot himself."

Caleb grinned. "Yeah, yeah, me and old Merle are practically twins."

"He did have that fatal flaw of being swayed by beautiful women. His lust did him in, you know. Some believe the Lady of the Lake has him trapped somewhere to this very day."

Caleb rolled his eyes. "Just another weapon in your chastity sermon, huh?"

"I'm practicing on you so I will be prepared for the real trouble." Jim patted Dean's leg. "He's bound to be worse."

"What about Sam?"

"Sammy?" Jim feigned horror. "Samuel is going to be a saint."

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

"Why doesn't Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus have any children?" Sam Winchester asked from his perch beside his brother. Sam was covered in Christmas wrapping paper and sporting a bright green bow on his head.

"I don't know. Why?" Caleb asked. He was sitting stretched out in front of the fireplace with Atticus, watching the boys tear into their Christmas presents from Bobby Singer.

"Because Santa Claus has cotton balls!" He roared, banging loudly on the new set of bongos Bobby had purchased for him.

Caleb laughed and Dean groaned. "Sammy, that's awful."

"I have to agree with that." Jim Murphy entered the room along with John and Mackland. The pastor was carrying a tray loaded down with eggnog and cookies Sam had helped him bake. Dean was only released from the hospital that morning, making it to the farm in time for Christmas Eve, much to his little brother's delight.

"So much for sainthood." Caleb flashed the pastor a knowing grin.

Jim frowned at him before placing the tray on the table near the couch where Dean was resting. "Please tell me you did not hear that joke at school, Samuel?"

"No." Sam said innocently. "Bobby told it to me."

"Bobby?" John turned towards the mechanic, sitting in the recliner closest to the fire, sporting a Santa hat.

"Hey, I was just trying to keep the kid entertained and out of trouble like you said."

"Hence the new set of drums."

Singer's smile broadened. "Every kid needs to explore their talents. Mackland covers the books; I'm covering the other areas."

"That explains the lock-picking set and BB Gun you bought Dean?" Jim shook his head in disappointment. "Stealing and thievery are not talents."

"They are in our line of work." Singer refuted.

"And have you never watched The Christmas Story?"

Bobby snorted. "Are you kidding? I have a replica of that leg lamp. It's priceless."

"Priceless junk." Mackland muttered under his breath. "You know, you do share some similarities with the next door neighbors on that movie though. What were they called? The ones with all those beasts barking and destroying things."

"Bumpuses." Caleb said around a mouthful of cookie he had snatched from Jim's tray.

Mackland took a cup of eggnog and moved around the melee of paper and packaging. He ignored the rude body language Bobby was offering and flashed a curious glance to his son. Caleb was wearing a new shirt."Architects do it with models?" Ames read the bold writing across the front. His frown grew as he took in the illustrations on the back, and he raised a disapproving brow. "Let me guess…another tasteful gift from Uncle Bobby."

Caleb bobbed his eyebrows suggestively as he tugged at the front of the black tee. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"For a geek." Dean snorted. The kid was still heavily medicated and not his usual cocky self. So the comment was welcomed.

Caleb threw a wad of discarded Christmas paper at him. "You're just upset he didn't get you a matching one, Deuce. We all know how you like to dress like me."

"Dean might cry." Sam giggled.

"Shut up," Dean growled, bumping shoulders with his little brother. "You're going to end up on Santa's bad list if you're not careful" Dean's hand flew to his mouth as he gave a rumbling cough that came deep from his lungs. Mackland had said the cough would linger.

"I already got what I want," Sam said sincerely. "So I'm not worried."

"Really?" Dean smirked as he recovered from the coughing fit and leaned against the couch pillow. "What was that?"

"For you to get better and come home to us." Sam snuggled closer to his brother. "I said my special prayer to Santa and he listened. Just like the angels do."

Jim sighed. "A saint I tell you."

"Please." Caleb groaned. "That was so not on the list you rattled off to Santa at the mall yesterday, Runt! A very long and detailed list by the way."

Sam shot the teen a hard look. "_That_ was not the real Santa. The real Santa is still in the North Pole getting ready for tonight." The boy looked at Jim. "Pastor Jim says the real Santa sees the list in our heart-not the one on paper."

"That's exactly right, my boy."

"Then why did I have to spend three hours in that freakin' line with all the crying babies and their stressed out parents?"

"You got that elf's phone number." Sam shot back. "And you ate my candy cane."

"Still-I always get the shitty jobs."

"That's because you're the junior hunter." John spoke up. He glanced to Bobby. "Speaking of that, aren't there some things that need to be taken care of in the barn before we can eat dinner?"

Bobby nodded. "I believe there is." The mechanic stood. "And I need to finish spreading my Christmas cheer seeing as I won't be around for the big celebrations tomorrow. The lovely Fiona has asked me to Christmas dinner."

"Lovely?" Caleb flashed Dean a grin. "In the same way The Grinch is cute and cuddly."

"Caleb," Jim reprimanded. "The Holidays are the time to be kind."

"Sorry, sir." He glanced to Bobby. "I've got a blindfold in my pack, Sanford."

Singer pointed a finger at him. "Next year, Junior, you're getting coal."

"Is Daddy getting coal this year?" Sam asked. "That's what he had in his stocking last year."

"Thanks to some mischievous elves." John shot a glare to Caleb and his oldest son. "Santa definitely marked that one on his list. Now move you're ass, Reaves."

Caleb grumbled in protest knowing that both the boys had new bikes that needed to be put together for tomorrow. Last time it had taken John, Mackland, and Jim to put Dean's together. "I know you all just keep me around so you'll have someone to feel superior over."

"He's figured us out." John offered the teen a hand up, roughly jerking him to his feet. "You won't be getting out of this job for a very long time."

"I think I'll come and supervise," Mackland offered, finishing the last of his eggnog.

"Talking about somebody needing to feel superior." Singer grunted. "It's not like we need a consultation, Doctor."

"But it is likely you'll need a _chaperone_." Mackland grinned. "I know Jim's stash is out there."

Jim looked at both boys once the men were gone. "I daresay our tree would be bare of gifts in the morning if not for you two."

"And you, Pastor Jim." Sam offered. "Santa will bring you lots of gifts."

Jim's eyes misted over and he cleared his throat before patting both boys on the head. "Oh, he has already brought me what I wanted, Samuel." He winked at Dean and handed the boy the plate of peanut butter cookies. "Three times over."

"Thanks, Jim." Dean took the plate and watched as Murphy made his way towards the kitchen.

Atticus waited for his master to leave before sauntering over to the couch and crawling up on the sofa with the boys. He smiled at the boys in anticipation, his tale thumping along with the soft tunes of Silent Night playing in the background.

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. "One won't spoil his dinner."

"It is Christmas." Dean sighed. "Pastor Jim says we should be kind."

Sam grinned and scooped up two cookies, offering them to the Retriever who devoured the chewy creations with unabashed rapture. "Do you think we should give him one more?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope. Santa and his reindeer should get in on the good stuff too."

Sam nodded. "You really think he'll come, Dean?"

"Why wouldn't he?"

"Because those men died."

The reply shocked Dean. His brother hadn't spoken about the incident. "Sam, that wasn't our fault."

"Lots of bad things happen around us, Dean."

There was no denying it, but his brother didn't need to know the truth for a long time. He still had years to believe in Santa Claus. "But lots of good things too." Dean held up a cookie and split it in half, sharing with his brother.

"Like Pastor Jim." Sam was smart and picked up on what his brother was referring too.

"And Mac, Caleb, and Bobby too." Dean smiled thinking about his new gun and lock picking kit. "And a pretty cool little brother and dad." Dean ruffled Sam's hair.

"You know, I think Santa really likes us."

"I think you're right."

"Want to hear another joke?"

Dean groaned. "Did Bobby tell it to you?"

"No. " Sam paused. "Somebody else."

"Okay. Out with it."

"What do you get when you cross a tiger and a snowman?" Sam agreed with his brother. Sometimes you needed to focus on the good things, and let go of the bad.

Dean hesitated. "What?"

Sam grinned. "Frostbite!" The five-year-old banged on his bongos.

Dean laughed. "Kill me now."

RcJ

A/N: I know some of you wanted Griffin tortured and skinned alive; but alas that would have left no bad guy for To the Victor Go the Spoils. So, please be patient with us, I promise we are putting things together. Slowly ;-) There is only one chapter left to go in this one and Chapter 11 is set once again in present time. I'm still striving to be finished before the much anticipated Season Premier! Woohoo! Only a couple of weeks now guys!

To lighten some tensions of late; some of us have put together a very fun way to go about enduring the possible changes in our favorite show. As a therapist, I'm a firm believer in laughter as the best medicine. So, whether you're pro/con/ or on the fence you can probably enjoy this! It's not critical of Kripke & Co. and I so think Dean would appreciate it. So if you're interested, read below. If not…then completely disregard this and **don't** yell at me later because you were tempted to take a harmless peak. Thanks everyone!-Rid

**SNSN-appropriate spoiler space to ensure Ridley is not flamed!! **

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**The Rubela Drinking Game, Alcohol Poisoning Edition**

Inventors of this game waive any liability in regards to alcoholism, inebriation, blackouts, or vomiting. All blame rightfully goes to Ruby and Bela, so called "kick ass" hunters, and their creators. Shots of tequila, whiskey or vodka are recommended, but not necessary, just enough to make you forget that the female hunters exist.

Drink when one of the girls engages in a gratuitous display of "toughgirlery". Meaning, knife twirling, knife throwing, gun play, or any other weapons handling at a time when not necessary and/or not actively engaging in a fight with evil. (gun/weapon maintenance doesn't count because a well kept gun is just good sense)

Drink when one of the girls uses a form of martial arts or regular street fighting. Or gymnastics.

Drink when one of the girls out-drives, out-drinks, out-fights or out-shoots the boys.

Drink when one of the girls out-snarks **or out-cons **the boys.

Drink when one of the girls knows something about the myth/monster that the boys don't know (historical or technical information i.e. what it is or what kills it, etc.).

Drink when one of the boys calls one of the girls for help. Basically, any time they call one of the girls when in the past they'd call or go to Bobby (or even Ellen. I.e. Sammy goes missing again and Dean calls them for help).

Drink when one of the girls is used as bait on a job.Double it if she is hurt and one of the boys tends to her wounds.

Drink when one of the girls uses their feminine wiles to gain access someplace and/or to get out of a sticky situation **or just generally uses their femininity to their advantage (i.e. preying upon Sam or Dean's gentlemanly nature, i.e. punching one knowing they wouldn't hit back, etc.).  
**  
Drink when one of the girls just happens to be hunting for the same thing as the boys at the same time. Take two drinks when one brother goes off to work the job with one girl and the other is left to do research or something boring like that. (Basically, plan on taking two drinks whenever one of them show up in an episode once their introductory episode is out of the way)

Make a friend take a drink when your friend expresses frustration over one of the girls (includes anything similar to "I can't believe this!").

Take two drinks if one of the girls mentions knowing another hunter (three drinks if it was John).

Take two drinks when, after a fight, the girls are very clean except for carefully placed blood or dirt smears (and the boys look like crap).

Drink if one of the girls is wearing an outfit where she is baring her midriff. Two drinks if either actress is sporting a belly ring or a tattoo (most likely on the small of her back, just above her lowrise jeans).

Drink if they are wearing some sort of weapon (knives, guns), hidden or exposed. [Two drinks if they use aerosol hairspray as a weapon.

Drink if the girls are wearing any rough-edge jewelry similar to the boys (ex: rings, bracelets, pendants).

One drink if either of the girls comes on to either of the Winchesters.

Three drinks if one of the girls kiss either of the Winchesters (or Bobby.)

Use your own discretion if one of the girls actually beds one of the Winchesters **(or Bobby). **

**Call 911**


	11. Chapter 11

Paper Tiger

Beta: Tidia

a/n: Wow. It's finished just under deadline. The new season is here next week. I want to thank all those kind reviewers who made working on this story so enjoyable. I wish I could list you all here, because so many of your comments inspired parts of this work. I want to thank Tara for all her hard work on a very special surprise we have for you at the end of this story! And she also did a preview of this part because I had the jitters about it. Last, but not least, thanks Tidia for all your expertise and support as I finished this and prepared for To The Victor. Two claps for you. Now on with the finale!

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

_On old Earth there were beautiful tigers who burned with life in the forests of the night. And then there were crazed old toothless tigers who preyed upon human beings. It is possible to completely affirm the world that brought forth tigers into life and still say no to an individual tiger about to devour your child-David Zindell _

New York

June 2007

The ringing of Griffin Porter's cell phone brought Mackland from his dark ruminations. An eternity of memories unfolded in mere seconds. He blinked as Griffin broke eye contact to answer the call.

Conversation between Porter and whoever was on the line was brief and clipped, but it gave Mackland a moment to collect his thoughts. He didn't like being caught off guard, especially in his own home.

"I'm sorry about that. Some calls are too important not to take."

"One of your dark conspirators?"

Griffin laughed. "Mackland, I never took you for the dramatic type. Scholars are cool-headed, analytical." He smiled enigmatically. "I once told Julian that in the future, perhaps a robot or super-computer could actually take over that spot."

Ames crossed his arms over his chest. "And here I thought you held aspirations for _the _position?"

"Naiveté of youth." Porter flinched in irritation. "Although, some may say I have several aspects in common with a computer."

"Like your lack of humanity?"

Griffin's smile became wolfish. "I was thinking of my intelligence."

"Computers are only as intelligent as the people who create them, Griffin."

"And you believe my wiring is faulty."

"That's one way to put it. A very kind way."

Griffin took a seat on the leather couch, making a production of settling in. "I'm surprised you still have room for kindness considering all that you are dealing with at the moment."

Mackland moved to one of the overstuffed chairs across from the sofa, but hesitated in sitting down. Porter's presence was unsettling. "Is this where you finally get around to explaining the real reason you're here?"

"I think you know why I'm here."

"I have theories. But seeing as you are a guest in my home, please go first."

Griffin leaned forward, gesturing for Mackland to sit down. "I want to talk about Samuel Colt's journal."

Ames clenched his fists, fought hard to keep the logical Scholar side in control. He paced a couple of steps away. "So I take it you had something to do with what happened to Riley yesterday?"

"Riley?" Griffin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Isn't that Boone's son's name?"

Mackland turned to face the scientist, unable to keep the anger from his tone. Mackland felt responsible for the boy…he felt responsible for too many people these days. "Don't play coy, Porter. You know damn well who he is. You've obviously kept tabs on him for some time now."

"Ah, yes. The up and coming archeology student. He seems adequately intelligent although a little too excitable for my tastes. Sort of like a Cocker Spaniel."

"He was attacked at Tufts University yesterday evening."

"That's too bad." Griffin tilted his head thoughtfully. "But we both know that war is a dangerous game for a boy to be involved in."

"For God's sake, Griffin. Riley is not involved in The Brotherhood. He's a kid. Boone stepped away from hunting to keep his son removed. He wants his family left out of the action."

"Yet, he and his lovely concubine play host to hunters on a daily basis at The Boonedocks, plying them with their cheap swill and heart-attack cuisine."

Mackland took a calming breath, returned to stand by the chair. "And you have been a frequent guest of the establishment too." Griffin wasn't the only one to keep tabs. Mackland's 'geek squad' as Caleb was fond of calling them were excellent at providing updates on the whereabouts and activities of those involved in their line of work.

Griffin snorted. "It's a little down home for my tastes, but Kathleen is a good cook; and a stimulating conversationalist."

Mackland shook his head and eased himself into the leather seat. "In one breath you speak of them as friends and in the next you justify injuring their child."

"I'm an expert at compartmentalizing."

"You're an authority on deception."

Griffin sighed. "It was merely a bump on the head. If the boy is going to follow in the steps of his father and grandfather, he needs to toughen up."

"Riley is not a hunter." It was a bump on the head that had warranted a trip to the hospital. Despite the fact Riley found the whole experience 'cool,' Mackland preferred it not happen again.

"And you know that once it is in your blood, The Brotherhood is not something one can abandon. Jim should have explained that to Boone before allowing him to retire."

"This isn't the army where you can reactivate a soldier." Mackland thought of his numerous conversations with John about the military. "Boone served his time. He still helps out, but he has a right to his own way of life. As does his family."

"Once you're in, you're in for life."

"This isn't the mafia." And now Mac thought of Jim and the preacher's conversation with the boys. The Godfather had been too influential.

"No. We're something much more. But we are built on the same principles."

Ames felt his irritation building again. "Principles such as kidnapping, assault, strong-arm tactics and thievery?"

Griffin rolled his eyes. "It served as a lesson to the boy for involving himself in affairs that do not concern him. Although, I must say he is much cleverer than his father. I'm quite certain he was blessed with Kathleen's intelligence."

Mac sighed. "Riley recognized an important archeological find and you relieved him of it. I never took you for the antiquities type."

Griffin smiled. "I admit that was more James's area of expertise. But mysteries have always intrigued me. You know as well as I do that Samuel Colt's journal is **not **chocked full of typical historical information as those boring academics hoped. It reads like any good hunter's field manual would-including passages about the demise of his fellow Triad members."

Mackland grimaced. So he had been right. Griffin and his faction in The Brotherhood had taken the journal-knew what it was. Griffin had come to the same conclusions as Mackland. Samuel Colt had not only been a member of The Brotherhood, but one of its past Scholars.

"Did you not write of how your Knight and Guardian perished?"

The baited inquiry tore Mackland from his grim musings. No answer was justified.

Griffin continued to stare at him. "Funny, that in history it is often The Scholar that survives these troublesome spots of evil uprisings. Just look at your predecessor-he retired to paradise for God's sake, while his Guardian and Knight both perished before their times. Perhaps it is because they are often removed from the battle, caught in their own egos. Have you explained this to Samuel Winchester? Is he willing to take over if his Triad peers should fall? They say it's hardest on those left behind." Griffin's eyes darkened. "Even as children they were close. I imagine the bond has strengthened with time."

"As any _traditional_ Triad should be." Mackland leaned forward. "And Samuel understands his position quite well." At least he would when Mackland got around to telling him about it. That would happen sooner than Ames had planned. Again, Fate was not giving the good doctor an inch.

"I like him." Griffin nodded. "He's very powerful. If Samuel Colt could make a gun that is capable of killing anything, I imagine his namesake will do even more wondrous things."

Mackland snorted. "So, Sam has your stamp of approval? Because he's powerful?"

"I have no issue with him. He would be a worthy match for Gideon and Ethan. Jim should have considered that." Griffin took a sip of brandy. "The Scholar needs to have useful abilities." He eyed Mackland. "Even yours are impressive to some degree."

"Why am I not flattered?" Ames frowned. "And Gideon and Ethan, although outstanding members of The Brotherhood, despite your influence, are not in the running for The Triad."

"Some people believe they should be."

"Some people like yourself and Harland Sawyer?"

"There are others, too." Griffin set his glass on the coffee table between the two men. "Even you have to admit that Jim considered them. Julian and Jim were close. Gideon is Julian's grandson, the true Guardian heir."

Mackland looked down at his ring. "Yes. I know he considered them." Jim never held a grudge against Jarrett Mathews children, the twins, Ethan and Elijah. After the incident in North Carolina, Jim seemed to do everything in his power to make up for the twin's loss. That included allowing Griffin his masquerade of still being in The Brotherhood. 

"He went so far to have you and John Winchester work with them-train with them."

"He was fair." Ames returned his gaze to Griffin. "But in the end he made his choice, and I will make sure that it is followed. Ethan, Gideon and Elijah are where they should be."

"Understudies, you mean?" Porter growled. "Second-string to your boys? Gideon, Ethan and Elijah are 'true' hunters. Generations of their bloodline have proven that."

"Bloodlines do not always come into play. You know that."

Griffin frowned. "But Dean Winchester? Really?"

"You don't know anything about Dean."

"I know he's an excellent hunter. But being The Guardian takes more than that."

Mackland nodded. "Which explains why Jim was chosen over you."

"Julian wasn't infallible." Griffin hid his anger well. He spoke in a calm, patient tone of voice. "He made a mistake when he made Jim Murphy The Guardian. And it has snowballed."

Despite their civilized conversation, Mackland could feel a charge in the air. Their verbal volley was calculated, chess-like. "In your twisted mind maybe. In reality Jim Murphy had every quality of a Guardian and more."

"I didn't come here to argue about past Triads."

Ames was growing tired of the game. "Then do tell me why the hell you are here, Griffin? I doubt you came to confess your felonious act against Riley. So please get it over with so I can experience the distinct pleasure of throwing you out of my home."

"We both know what's in that journal. I suspect Riley being the smart boy made copies of some of the more pertinent information and sent it to The Scholar as soon as he realized what he had found."

Mackland merely raised a brow, unwilling to contribute one modicum of information to Porter. Riley had indeed realized what one of his professors had gained possession of through an endowment. Dr. Carlson, Riley's professor, had been given the opportunity to catalog a gift from a wealthy benefactor. The benefactor was a man who had a great interest in Old West relics. Somehow Samuel Colt's personal writings had ended up in his collection. Carlson had discounted it as trivial memorabilia-the ramblings of an 'old coot.' Riley had known better. Riley had scanned the journal and sent it via e-mail, as Mac had read it one name stood out: Noah Seaver, Caleb's grandfather.

"It would appear that Samuel Colt was a member of a Triad that also faced a momentous time of change and uprising," Porter continued. "During their era a great evil was woken, called forth by a sinister man of the cloth. A great evil which has harmed countless generations since then."

Ames could tell Griffin was enjoying rubbing salt in open wounds. He knew the man couldn't read him. Mackland's barriers were too strong, but he was positive the bastard could sense his discomfort. Samuel Colt's journal told of the incident with Noah Seaver. Mac and Jim told Caleb the story of Noah Seaver was rumor and conjecture, but now he would have to tell his son it was all true.

"The ambitious preacher used a talisman of great power to call forth more than he could handle. Opened a portal to hell in the process too." Griffin raised a brow. "Is any of this sounding like déjà vu to you?"

"My patience is growing thin." Mackland forced a trace of boredom into his tone. "I'm tired and I haven't eaten or watched the Yankees."

Griffin grew more animated, excited by the topic. "From what I can discern, Noah Seaver obtained that talisman from a hunter for a pretty price. The Brotherhood was thrown into sort of a flux after the murders of all those good God-fearing folks. Rumors of betrayal in their own midst-by a Triad member no less."

Ames sighed heavily. "Samuel Colt denied that his Knight had anything to do with selling the article to Seaver. Nothing was ever proven." But the damage had been done. Just as rumors of Caleb's lineage and Sam's involvement with the yellow-eyed demon in the present day tainted the prospective Triad.

"But even the whisper of such an indiscretion brought discourse and unease. Countless innocents died. Those women and children in Seaver's church were just the beginning as you well know. Brother turned against brother. The Triad found themselves in quite a fit-a revolution."

"Members of The Brotherhood took advantage of the chaos to make a bid for power, which did not belong to them." Mackland ran a finger over his eyebrow. "Now _that_ conjures a feeling of déjà vu."

Griffin's lips thinned. "Samuel Colt's Triad clung tenaciously to their control by hiding away all weapons of power-including the talisman Seaver used. They put them away in a place only they knew about." Griffin stroked his graying beard. He had it all figured out and was determined to drill his point home. "Then later after The Knight and Guardian were gone, Samuel did away with the hunter journals of that time to absolve himself and his friends of any wrongdoing."

"That is not how the journal read, Griffin! Jim was right when he said you were very selective when it came to history." Griffin had loosely told the tale of the beginnings of The Brotherhood to Caleb all those years ago, making his son doubt his place in the order of things. The origins of their organization was nowhere near as clear-cut as Griffin made it sound. The same would hold true for the incident between Samuel Colt's Triad. It could not be the black and white history Griffin was painting it to be. The past was so malleable-prone to men's perceptions and susceptible to their desires to appear just. Mass genocide could easily be twisted to look like heroic progress.

Mackland was just as resolute in making his own argument "The Knight and Guardian didn't just _disappear_…they were murdered-betrayed by one of their own. Samuel Colt did what he had to do to restore balance, to protect the innocent from the evil that had been unleashed."

"Yes," Griffin agreed. "Colt took initiative. I'll give him that. The hunt for the escaped demons reunited The Brotherhood, gave them a purpose. They believed it to be the Apocalypse. In their fervor, they managed to send most of the escaped demons back to hell, excluding our yellow-eyed monster it seems. Then Samuel, proving to be the genius Scholar he was, found a way to insure they would never be released again with that noteworthy railroad construction. He then made the infamous Colt to track down the yellow-eyed bastard who had escaped." Griffin leaned against the couch. "He was a busy man in between getting patents for his inventions and working for the government in all manners of warfare."

Mackland nodded. That much of the story they could agree on. "But he died before he could fulfill the mission." He pinned Griffin with a hard gaze. "A deed Dean Winchester succeeded in."

"So I hear." Griffin inclined his head. "But there are also two-hundred or so new threats among us."

"We're working on that."

"It may not be the worst of our problems."

Ames laughed. "There is something worse than an army of darkness so great it could destroy the world?"

"They are not much of an army without a leader. Just scattered chaos."

"We've already cleared up the fact that their leader is dead." Mackland prayed that Griffin wasn't referring to the yellow-eyed demon's plans to have one of the 'children' lead his minions. They didn't need anyone finding out about Sam's theorized part in that. Ames hardened his voice. "Dean finished what Samuel Colt had started. There will be no leader unless they nominate a new general of their own."

"Yes, but Caleb's grandfather may have provided a loophole that no one has considered."

Mackland frowned. The shift was unexpected. "What are you rambling about?"

"The talisman, Mackland. It once brought the yellow-eyed demon from whatever depths he existed in before being earthbound, who is to say it can't return him once more."

"That's a ridiculous theory and even if it wasn't, the talisman is hidden away."

"Perhaps not for long."

Ames was beginning to understand why Griffin had come. "Don't tell me you are once more trying to find the store of weapons?"

"I never stopped trying to find them. It has been nearly a two-decade long crusade. One that has not come with out its victories." Griffin's dark eyes glinted. "I am in possession of two more very unique journals. Journals belonging to Daniel Tanner and Cole Wilmington."

"The Guardian and Knight of Samuel Colt's Triad." Mackland shook his head. Leave it to Porter. After reading Samuel Colt's journal, Ames had wondered about the other members of The Triad. It was an amazing find. "I'm sure I don't want to even know how you pulled that off."

"It wasn't easy. You're not the only one who likes to associate with very powerful witches, Mackland. Some have amazing gifts of sight."

Ames shifted in his chair. "The covens swear no allegiance."

Griffin's mouth twitched. "Doesn't stop the few free agents from jumping into one bed or another though, does it?"

Mackland's gray eyes darkened and his fingers dug into the soft leather of the chair. "So now you have a complete set? You still haven't divulged your true purpose in being here."

"As I've said, I believe the weapons are in danger of being found."

"By someone other than you?"

"I have the vital information now. It took parts from all three journals to put it together. That Triad was quite clever. But of course I figured it out. Unfortunately so did someone else."

"Like whom?"

"Ian." Griffin shrugged. "It would seem he's not quite the mindless lapdog I had believed him."

"He's turned on you?" That wasn't good news. Ian had never been a stellar hunter and by far not one of Mackland's favorite members of The Brotherhood, but having him as a free agent could prove to be worse. For one, Ian had other inside sources than merely the ones Griffin provided. He dated Carolyn, who was smart as they came, but at times very naïve. "Are you sure?"

"Or he's been compromised." Griffin raised a brow. "Seduced by the darkside."

"Meaning?"

"I believe he's working with demonic forces. One demon in particular."

The situation was growing grimmer. "What demon?"

"I believe you knew her as Meg."

It was what Mackland feared. "The demon that possessed Sam?"

"One in the same."

"Was Ian working for you when he came up with that little plan? Someone hired those renegade hunters to take out my son while Sam was taken."

"No." Griffin was adamant. "I have never worked with demons. When I found out about that and what happened to Steve Wyndell, my tolerance of Ian's willfulness was terminated."

"But you'd already given him what he needed to do you in?"

"To do _us_ in," Griffin corrected. "We're in this together. Not only is Noah Seaver's great shame supposedly with the store of weapons; but also an object capable of bringing The Brotherhood to an end."

"And you think the demon knows about these weapons?"

"I think that she devil wants to bring her daddy back. While the prospect of her possessing the talisman is beyond troubling, I'm more worried about whom or what might get their hands on the object of our doom."

"Now who's being melodramatic?"

"I'm not exaggerating. If the stories are true, the source of the silver and the magic it contains could be wiped out."

"You don't even know what the source of the silver is. None of us do."

"That's not entirely true." Griffin gestured to a picture on the mantel.

"Dean?" Mackland tensed. "You believe Dean knows."

"I'm not entirely convinced of that. But it seems I have no other choice but to go along with James's decision. Even in death the old bastard is getting the last laugh."

"What the hell are you proposing, Griffin?"

"A joint venture. One that will benefit The Brotherhood and the innocent fools that walk this earth without a clue as to what is truly going on around them."

"Why include us?" Ames demanded. "If you have all three journals, the information you need to find the location of the weapons, and the man power to pull it off, then why risk bringing us in?"

Griffin leaned forward, held Mackland's demanding gray gaze. "Because only The Guardian can open the goddamn door."

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Well, I hope you liked it. This chapter didn't have a lot of action but it was full of little hints and clues about the upcoming To the Victor Go the Spoils. Speaking of which, Tara has just happened to put together a little video all about that upcoming story! And she's going to share it with you all. Considering I only gave her a brief description of what takes place, she did an incredible job. I'll spell the link out below and it will also be found at Tara's site and TheHuntersTomb. . Please let us know what you think. Also, Tidia and her 'Hunters' have done a lot of updating at the Tomb. Some new links have been put up so check it out.

To The Victor Go The Spoils: http(colon)//www(dot)youtube(dot)com(backslash)watch?vxWHLXodGxew

Also, Tidia and I have a request. The Brotherhood will be getting a new member in that story. He's a real 'kick-ass' hunter. Better instincts and senses than the Winchesters put together. One look into his big pouty eyes and he'll have you eating out of the palm of his hand. It's been rumored he can catch his tail if he's fast of enough and even lick his own b…well you get the picture. _**Boo**_, in keeping with our theme from Pastor Jim's favorite book To Kill A Mockingbird-and it fits pretty darn well with the Supernatural theme-will be making his leap into our little family. We want you all to help us find him. We need pictures of your favorite dogs people! They can be yours or ones you find on the internet. You can send them to Tidia or upload them at the Hunterstomb where Sensue has created a lovely banner for us. Don't you wish we could have had this kind of input into finding Kripke's new "kick-ass" additions. (grin). Truly though everyone Thanks again for all your support. And Enjoy the new SEASON!


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry guys I got the addy to the video wrong. Here it is: I missed the equal sign. Apparently this site won't post that either.

http(colon)//www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v(equalsign)xWHLXodGxew

Also, concerning To The Victor: Yes, Mackland knows about the deal in this last chapter. He and Dean will be discussing that.;-)

Yes, Caleb will find out about the deal. No, Griffin is not in The Brotherhood. Jim took his ring. I promise you'll understand more very soon.

Thanks everyone!


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